Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance
by rthstewart
Summary: A romantic comedy of tree pollen, snark, biology and high finance featuring the Just King and an Evil Banker. Chapter 23, Yule Tidings in which many gifts are given and received and important journeys are undertaken and future journeys planned.
1. Chapter 1 The Morning After

_**Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance **– A comedy of pollen, snark, biology and high finance with the Just King and an Evil Banker._

**_ Not a Mary Sue! Plz Read & revu!  
_**

The following, to be in vignettes, is the continuation of the association begun in _By Royal Decree_. This is for the lovely women who have encouraged me and, however inexplicably, expressed their interest in seeing more of The Just King and the Evil Banker.

You know by now if you've come this far. This is not my children's Narnia. It may not be yours. This is romantic comedy, and while its formula is popular in other fandoms, it is far less common here. _**T.**_ It will be _**T. **_This is written with a restrained hand, more verbal than descriptive, on the assumption that less is more, and that if you are old enough to understand what is going on, you are old enough to read it.

With gratitude and admiration (and sincere apologies) to the creator of The Chronicles of Narnia, C.S. Lewis. I claim no ownership interest whatsoever in any derivative fiction I write, and never have. Any original content in my derivative fiction is in the public domain and may be used freely and without notice to me or attribution.

* * *

_Chapter 1  
The Morning After  
In which dim princesses depart and Mrs. Furner frets about laundry_

* * *

If he were a betting Tiger, which he was not, Jalur would have put down about even money on Lady Morgan being with King Edmund on this morning after the tedious Occasion on the lawns. As he ambled from his private (of course they were private!) quarters at the Tree, he ignored the four separate Crow inquiries, blunt and rude. Approaching Cair Paravel, he espied two more Crows encamped in the Tree outside King Edmund's balcony windows. They were undoubtedly hoping for a wing up on the intense wagering on the outcome by trying to get a glimpse into the King's rooms.

Jalur was approaching the day with trepidation. It was foggy and cooler, which would make the day more comfortable for King Edmund's Spring allergies. The Tree and tree pollen did not circulate so readily in the damp and still air. If the King had taken the opportunity so plainly there the night before to mate with Lady Morgan, he would be irrepressibly cheerful. Jalur did not approve of such a wearying excess of spirits. On the other paw, given the King's irascible Spring temperament, it would be a relief for everyone.

If the mating had not occurred, Jalur anticipated a truly wretched day and he would probably have to take matters into his own paws lest murder be done. He and the Hound Bitch, Jina, temporary guard to Lady Morgan, might conspire together and barricade King Edmund and Lady Morgan in the Tower Library. In this he wished for Dalia's assistance. The Cheetah and former Guard to the High King had elevated subtle mating manipulations to an art form.

He rounded the path to the Palace and from the tilting field near the Training Yard and Barracks rose the voices of the Red Dwarf work party. They were breaking camp, chanting,

_A Fox may steal your hens,__  
A Squirrel may steal your Pence_  
_An Otter rob your Chest,  
A Rooster may steal your Rest,__  
A Thief your Goods and Plate,  
__A Thief your Goods and Plate.  
But this is all but picking,__  
With Rest, Pence, Chest, and Chicken,_  
_If ever was decreed,  
If Crow's claw is fee'd_

_Crow steals your whole Estate,  
Crow steals your whole Estate._

Jalur never did like singing much. The good news was that Red Dwarfs would be leaving soon, marching toward Archenland with the High King, his Guard, and two very silly Princesses.

Entering the Palace, he heard and smelled the High King and Queen Susan and their Guards breaking fast with the Princesses Dim and Even More Dim. It was early yet, but everyone was anxious to see the troublesome females out of Cair Paravel. Mrs. Furner and the Dryads who assisted in the guest wing probably dumped the Princesses from their beds at dawn.

It was strange that Lady Morgan did not grate upon the Beasts as other Humans could. Apart from her manners, which were deplorable, though the Rats and Crows were no better, he had found the Lone Island Banker not objectionable. He had spent some time examining why this was so.

Jalur swung his head around, perceiving Jina coming from the direction of the guest wing. The Hound was alone, which meant Lady Morgan was not in her own rooms. In turn, this meant only one thing.

In confirmation and reaching the same conclusion, a voice croaked triumphantly, "Ah ha!" from above. In a flurry of wings, the Crow launched from a perch on a cornice and flew out the double doors.

The word would be spread in the Murder and the Roost within minutes.

Jina trotted down the stairs, tracking the Crow with her sensitive nose. "I suppose you should commend Kangee to King Edmund for his initiative," she commented.

"Or recommend him for eating," Jalur sniffed. He looked the Hound over, for she was still wearing that ridiculous corset, the arrangements of which he of course had known of and neglected to mention to his King as they did not involve eating threats to a Monarch.

He stalked toward the staff wing, his customary first stop in the Palace every morning so that he might learn the day's planning with Mr. Hoberry and Mrs. Furner.

Jina perked her sensitive ears and sped up. "I wonder what ails Mrs. Furner?"

The Red Dwarfess was in the storage room, a tiny office she shared with the head housekeeper, Mr. Hoberry. She was weeping into her apron and leaning against a precariously stacked tower of cookbooks: _Offal not Awful!_ (one of Cook's favorites); _Return to Moosewood And Never Miss the Meat!_; _Better Dens and Gardens Official Cookbook_.

"I will turn him over to Cook, I will! And the Sword Master can dice what is left!" wailed Mrs. Furner on seeing Hound and Tiger slip into the storage room.

"Who?" Jina asked. In the presence of the intelligent and conversational Hound, Jalur found he never had to say anything at all.

"King Edmund!"

"What has happened?"

Mrs. Furner brandished a note. "He wanted a tray brought up! In his rooms!"

Jalur studied the note. He knew his King's hand well enough and saw a request of tea for two for that morning. "Clotted cream?" he read aloud. "Honey?"

He glanced at the Hound, but Jina seemed no more comprehending of the problem than he. Perhaps this was another Human or near Human thing that Beasts really were unable to comprehend not matter how many times it was explained, like washing clothing and body separately.

"It's bad enough that I must explain to the launderers all that food he always leaves in his pockets for the Rats and the ink stains on everything." Mrs. Furner dabbed her eyes and her voice turned savage. "Honey! Sweet cream! I'll set ants in his rooms, I will!"

"Shall we just say that Mrs. Furner is overwrought and forget we heard this?" Mr. Hoberry said from the door.

To make room for the Faun, Jalur squeezed up against the wall of broken crockery. The storage area was, save for the Physician's office, the most uncharacteristically disorganized place in all of the Cair Paravel grounds.

Mr. Hoberry kicked the door shut with a hoof, sealing them all in. "Good morning Jalur, Jina. You have surmised the evening's events?"

Mrs. Furner gave a mighty sniff. Though too quietly for Mr. Hoberry to hear, Jalur heard her mutter _Ants_. He chose to let the comment go without further remark; Jina twitched an ear but similarly betrayed nothing.

The Faun took the note with the tea instructions in King Edmund's hand, carefully shredded it, wadded the scraps into a ball and tossed it in a pail in the corner labeled, "Shredder." Feeding confidential documents to the Goats, Sheep, and Rabbits was more effectively permanent than burning them. Mr. Hoberry personally saw to the document destruction every evening.

"I do not expect we shall see King Edmund until luncheon which I shall plead is impossible to deliver to his rooms."

"Thank you, Mr. Hoberry," Mrs. Furner sniffed again. "If he resists, I'll give Cook complete discretion in what she sends up and that will drive him out.

Jalur half wished that would indeed happen. The foods Humans found loathsome were tasty by his judge, save for those slimy vegetables.

"Shall we see to the day then?" Mrs. Furner said with her more customary briskness.

She and Mr. Hoberry turned in tandem to the charcoal stained white-washed wall that contained the schedules for the Monarchs. Next to the icon of the sword, for High King Peter, _On the road_ was already written in, with no expected date of return. With the weather fair and the company good, both true here, the High King could be traipsing about the Narnian south for two weeks or more.

Below the High King's sword, the heart icon designated Queen Lucy and _To the Telmar basin_ was also scrawled next to her name on the wall.

"Our Queen will show that little Beaver tart what for," Mrs. Furner said, smugly, writing in the beginning of the complement that would accompany the Valiant Queen on the journey. Beneath _Briony_, the Queen Lucy's Guard, Mrs. Furner wrote _Lady Morgan_, _Jina_, and _Sallowpad_ the Raven, Chief of the Murder of the Narnian Intelligence Service.

"Just so," Mr. Hoberry responded writing information about the Library and Lone Island taxes next to the crow icon for King Edmund and the rat that represented Queen Susan on the schedule. "Jezebel has made no friends to plead her cause, first targeting Mr. Beaver as she did and now threatening the Willow Grove."

With singular enthusiasm, Mrs. Furner was vigorously wiping away the schedules of Princess Dim and Even More Dim: _Dine with Queens; Ride with High King; Walk with High King; Dine with High King; Dancing/sword/archery/riding lessons with High King; Stalk King Edmund in Library; Pretend to learn business of governance from King Edmund; Needlework with Queens; Practice knife throwing and archery with Queen Lucy (have Physician standing ready)._

"Briony and I will be speaking with King Edmund about outfitting the troupe to accompany Queen Lucy to the Telmar," Jina put in.

"Take it up with Queen Susan and Master Roblang," Jalur said quickly. "King Edmund will want to avoid an appearance of partiality."

"True," Jina mused.

"Lady Morgan to me and Queen Lucy this afternoon," Mrs. Furner said, adding the information to the wall. "She'll need help with her equipage and packing." The Dwarfess wrote out some further instructions about clothes and seamstresses.

"I do not believe Lady Morgan will be a Princess about it all," Jina said with satisfaction.

"Not as you are wearing her corset," Mrs. Furner agreed.

A rousing tromp of boots and _Heigh Ho!_ announced the Red Dwarfs arriving to escort their King and his unwelcome Princess guests on the Southern roads.

Mr. Hoberry winced, undoubtedly for the mud being tracked in on his clean floors. Carefully wiping his charcoaled hands on a towel, he picked up a tray. "And speaking of Princesses, our guests our undoubtedly ready to be farewelled."

"I do hope it rains," Mrs. Furner muttered.

* * *

"I do hope it rains," Edmund announced. From his balcony, he waved enthusiastically at the departing troupe.

"Don't take less than three to one and the Crows'll fleece you unless you define rain," a woman's voice responded from his bed.

_A woman's voice. Emanating from his bed._

Feeling very smug at the accomplishment, he turned back into the room, firmly shutting the door behind him. He sneezed. She sneezed.

Any further sensual moments were temporarily suspended for application of handkerchiefs and hot tea. What else had come on the tea tray would await the head clearing that accompanied the hot tea and handkerchiefs. Edmund has thought he might have heard some mild censure from Mr. Hoberry who had delivered the tray, but such an event was so unthinkable he dismissed it.

Retrieving from a table top extra clean handkerchiefs, he crossed back to join in his bed the Evil Banker Who Was Most Assuredly Not A Lady. She was in quite the state with Crow combed hair and not a few Crow scratches. These and more besides were all quite in evidence as she was naked. In his bed.

The Most Assuredly Not A Lady status had been verified by vigorous testing methods.

"Thank you," she said through a sniffle, taking the handkerchief. He tucked the others in the pockets of his dressing gown.

"How would I define rain?" Edmund asked returning to the point about Crow wagering.

Morgan shrugged and the bedclothes sloppily drawn about her slid away again. Her shredded, pollen-filled gown had been tossed into a far corner where it would not vex them. She had expressed no concern thus far in finding other clothing. How she would travel from his rooms to hers was something they would have to resolve, eventually. Edmund wondered if she would be Narnian about it.

Half-heartedly, Morgan tried pulling a cover over her shoulder. "I would require that rain be measurable, or over a period of time, and specify liquid as opposed to frozen precipitation."

With a glance toward the gray window, Edmund added, "You could also clarify that condensation in the form of fog or dew does not meet the definition." He took a contemplative sip of tea. "I would not have thought to define natural acts with such specificity, I suppose."

She snorted. "You can put anything in writing. You know that. You have."

As in dealing with Rats and Crows, he had to remind himself to respond to the sentiment behind the words, rather than the blunt words themselves.

"How so?"

"You specified thigh circumference limitations as a condition precedent, Harold."

She stretched out her own shapely leg across his for emphasis. "Did you review my calculation? I was hoping you would notice my cleverness."

"I did." He ran an appreciative hand along the slim expanse sprawling across his lap. "We shall have to locate measuring cords to confirm your sum."

The horrified look told him he had said something impolite. "But it hasn't changed!" she protested. "I checked the measure and the other variable contract conditions you specified before arriving in Narnia! I met all of them!"

Steady there. Conversing with Morgan was a prickly business. "I was not implying a breach of a condition precedent," he assured her, emphasizing the point with another long stroke, hip to toe. "I am admiring your wit in conveying it as you did."

While he could compliment her figure as well as her figures, Edmund had not found Morgan especially responsive in regard to the former. For his part, he had been pleased to find Crow scratches notwithstanding, she was as attractive in morning as at night and with gown or without. There was nothing outsized or especially noteworthy, no saucy markings or impressive battle scars save quill calluses more formidable than his own. More to the point, she was naked, she was Most Assuredly Not A Lady, she was in his bed, and she did not want to be in anyone else's bed. Those factors alone would have offset any number of ills had they been present.

"Oh." She appeared mollified, but the frown deepened again. "Harold, you need to correct this omission. The contract did not specify a duty to report material changes on those parameters."

"Perhaps we might do so together. I would appreciate your analysis."

Morgan shuddered delicately at the prospect of protracted negotiations. "Hand me my cup, would you? I'll spill it otherwise and Mrs. Furner will be cross."

Edmund had thought at her first that her concern for upsets and pratfalls was overdone. It was not. She had already spilled one cup of tea, dropped a honey spoon, and last night had snagged her unraveling gown on a door handle – twice.

She slurped her tea with more enthusiasm than elegance. Given how adventuresome her mouth was, he considered it a fair trade. "Why were they here?"

Edmund was becoming more accustomed to this manner of speech. When Morgan did speak, it was to bring him, without preliminaries, into the middle of a conversation she had been having silently with herself. That she only spoke a small part of the dialog ongoing in her head was, by all developing indication, a very good thing.

"Why were who here?"

"The Princesses."

"The usual, with seduction of the High King topping of the list."

She leaned about and over, exposing a breathtaking stretch of flesh in very easy reach. He had to quickly snag her cup before the whole contents upended into the bed. Rooting through the parchment strewn about them amid the bedclothes, Morgan found the object of her desire and withdrew the page, uttering a sound so satisfying that it circumvented rational thought. His sated imagination, dozing through all the dull morning talk, perked up for the display, then perceiving yet more of the same, groaned and rolled over for another recuperative nap.

Finding the pertinent discussion point on the page, Morgan settled next to him again and blew her nose. "They don't really disclose _Seduction of High King_ in Section 4(b)(iii)(V), do they?"

"It is not the avowed purpose, no." Edmund handed her back her cup. "Would you advise one of your customers to so disclose?"

Morgan had quite the expressive scowl. "If I thought you'd try to enforce it, I would."

"Enforcement? For breach of a courtship agreement?" It was impolite to scoff, but really, he did not see the merit of something so preposterous at all.

"Yes!" Morgan exclaimed so vehemently, her tea cup sloshed. "Sorry," she muttered and gulped the dregs of her cup down hurriedly. Dashing the tea away from the precious documents she flicked it everywhere else. Edmund wiped the drips from his face.

"Remind me where I splashed on you and I'll clean that up later."

His imagination snapped to attention in order to dutifully catalog the _many_ tea-dripped places on his body. As his imagination was not accustomed to such scholastic rigor, it begged the assistance of his intellect, which was only too happy to assist.

"Anyways," Morgan continued, as if without interruption, "it's bad business if your trading partners don't think you won't enforce your rights."

He was still trying to sort through her double negatives, but Morgan blathered on. "And, besides, Harold, I really don't understand all this fuss about your brother. You seem pretty magnificent to me."

"Well thank you for that." Her frank admiration was very flattering and spoken so disarmingly, he believed Morgan was speaking truly. She was intensely preoccupied with his contract drafting skills, mental acuity, and person, in that order. It was not unpleasant, for sincere praise was gratifying when it came from someone whose intellect he was coming to respect, but it was very odd.

"As you know, the Just serves me well and I have many titles besides. I am well content with them and the latitude they afford me."

"Titles." She made a little huff of annoyance and began carefully organizing the parchment, flicking away tea spots.

Picking up the last page of her contract, Edmund noted anew that Morgan had executed it herself and now considered the fact more carefully.

"Speaking of titles," he said, thumbing the last page with her own signature, "I thought only senior officers in the banking syndicate could execute a contract."

"Yes," she replied with a non-committal shrug.

"So what is your title, Banker Morgan?"

She uttered a deep sigh. "Well, I've got a lot of them, like you do. Everyone's got a different name for me – trustor, manager, executor, advisor, danisman."

Edmund felt his interest rise further still. Depending upon the country and its laws, Morgan was describing positions with significant influence and importance. "What of your House of Linch? What is your title there?"

She was reading the contract in her hand and as her wont, attending solely to it. While Morgan's focusing abilities had significant advantages in certain pleasurable contexts, that same concentration made it difficult to shift her attention when it might be wanted elsewhere.

"It's so nice to have a clean copy of this brilliant document," she said happily, inhaling the scent of fresh parchment. "Mine is all crushed from sleeping on it. I'd like a new one in your hand when I leave."

"Morgan? Your title?" he repeated.

"Associate Director," she tossed out offhandedly, still wholly intent upon admiring his draftsmanship.

He stared so long in silent and dumbfounded shock at the naked Evil Banker Who Was Most Assuredly Not A Lady stretching invitingly across his bed that even she finally had to notice his gape-mouthed astonishment.

"What?" she asked, defensive.

"Associate Director?" Edmund repeated.

"Yes." She rolled on to her stomach and kicked her feet in the air. His imagination leapt up and Edmund's flabbergasted intellect beat it back down with a _not now you idiot_ reprimand. She could not be serious, except that that Banker Morgan of the House of Linch plainly was.

He swallowed the surge of anxiety and frantically dredged up what he knew of the banking syndicates' organizational structures. "This places you as reporting directly to the Director of the House of Linch, correct?" He was ashamed his voice hiked a little with the unexpected stress.

"Yes. I'm Director of Portfolio Management, House of Linch."

_Oh by the Lion_. "Morgan, why are you here! Your status warrants a State Visit!" Susan and Peter both would have his head and innards strung up for this. Lucy would laugh. Lucy probably already knew.

She had the grace to flush a little and buried her head in her arms. "Oh don't start, Harold," she muttered. "I'm not here officially."

He stared again at the executed page. It was signed in her own name, and not on behalf of the House in which she held such considerable authority. Still, this seemed an uncomfortably fine line to be walking, or as they were now, lying upon. "Banker Morgan, I …"

"Stop it!" she blurted. "I would have never been allowed here otherwise. The Director only let me come because it _was_ a personal visit."

"So he could disavow your presence?"

"Yes," she mumbled miserably. "They don't let me out much anymore, because I cause problems."

He was doing quite the echo imitation. "Problems?"

"Diplomatic ones."

This was beginning to make a twisted sort of sense given her manner and speech. Were Morgan part of an official delegation, he could easily see her tactless ways giving offense to touchy dignitaries. "Such as?"

"Did you hear about that huge dispute between Terbinithia and the Zalindreh Silk Makers? Or, the boycott of the Galman Winemakers Guild?"

"Yes, of course. Susan even went to Galma to try to improve the poisonous atmosphere." Both had been colossal misunderstandings and generated significant ill will.

"The boycott was good for Narnian winemakers, though," Morgan mumbled into the bed. "They saw a 12.5 percent increase in exports."

He felt his mouth twitching. "And at the root of both disputes was Associate Director Morgan of the House of Linch?"

"Don't laugh," she muttered, still into her arms. He sensed a creeping mortification.

"I am afraid I cannot promise that."

She petulantly kicked her legs into the air again. His imagination, now rested and motivated, contemplated this vision of a naked Evil Banker Who Was Most Assuredly Not A Lady. He gently seized the nearest of her legs and set a kiss near her knee.

He was hoping to hear a repeat of that very satisfied noise she had made earlier involving the location of Section 4(b)(iii)(V). The sound she now uttered was close, but not quite identical. It would require further effort, and he knew just how to accomplish it.

"There is a provision of the contract involving the requisite Physician visit we should probably review."

Morgan turned her head and opened an eye. Brown, he noticed, for the first time, like her skin. "Section 32? I had wondered why all the caveats about how the Narnian sovereign is not responsible for injury inflicted during a visit to the Physician."

"Oh yes," Edmund agreed fervently. "It is very wise to keep one's distance from our Palace Physician."

With a flailing of limbs that almost connected with his head, Morgan thrust the contract back at him. "If you read, I can look for where I spilled tea on you."

"Not just look, I hope?"

* * *

Jina sat patiently and well to the side while the Physician completed his examination. He was holding a glass that magnified his tiny eyes enormously. "Crow, I see, Lady Gorgan."

"Lady Morgan," the Hound supplied, not that it would matter.

Sitting on the hard little examining cot, Lady Morgan was working very hard to not flinch unnecessarily, for that would only increase the risk to her person. It was, however, very hard to remain still when the Physician came close. He was not a comfortable Beast to be near.

"Scratches to arms, neck, face. Does it hurt when I do this?"

Holding Lady Morgan's arm in his paws, the Physician pressed down on the fine red scratches.

"No," Lady Morgan said quickly, jerking back her arms. "It's fine."

"I'm the judge of that, Lady Gorgan, not you," he grunted. "You flinched when I touched your scratches."

Of course she flinched. Jina sighed but remained silent. Lady Morgan was, to Jina's sensitivity, obviously nervous, but who would not be in this company? Everyone was twitchy around the Physician.

Nor did the Physician's office inspire confidence. Floor to ceiling was a library of books and scrolls that seemed likely to cascade at any moment from the bulging shelves. And the smells! The lingering odor of every nervous Beast and Being of Narnia mingled with the pungent scents of dried herbs, seeds, oils, alcohols, minerals and tinctures. Baskets held linen strips and rags for bandaging. Plants and strange, dead things dangled from the rafters drying. Disturbing instruments hung from wall pegs – the bone saws, birthing ropes, hooks, arrow extractors, and long lines of horse hair for stitches. As for the needles, well those were always in ample supply, in many intimidating lengths.

The Physician shuffled away from his patient toward the work bench where he kept his medicines, ingredients, mortars, pestles, and mixing measures. "Clean the scratches well, twice a day, and not in the Bathing Pond. I'll order Mrs. Furner to provide you with boiled water and laundered rags."

Hobbling back, the Physician handed Lady Morgan a lidded clay pot. "After cleaning, apply this salve and notify me immediately if you notice any redness or discharge. I want to see you in seven days."

Lady Morgan opened the pot and Jina sensed the healing balm common in Narnia with its soothing scents of bee wax, seed oils, and fleshy plant matter. There was another balm that had a spicy, peppery smell for warming sore muscles and aches.

"Lady Morgan will be going on the road with Queen Lucy tomorrow," Jina injected.

The Physician grabbed a twig from the counter and manipulated it in his paws. "How long?"

"A week," Lady Morgan said, leaning further away from the prickly Rodent. "Perhaps two."

"Jina, keep a nose for infection then," the Physician said. "Anyone going who knows field medicine?" He bit into the twig with his front incisors and began delicately chewing.

"Master Roblang," Jina said as Lady Morgan shrugged her ignorance. The Red Dwarf Arms Master was coming at her own suggestion. Jina had been developing some theories concerning Lady Morgan and wished for the views of one of Narnia's most astute experts in Beast language.

The Physician nodded his agreement. "That's well, then. Take the salve with you, Lady Gorgon, and speak up to Jina and Master Roblang if there's a problem. The Queen Lucy can always fetch her cordial in an emergency, though we dislike reliance upon it."

The Physician shambled over to his ruinous desk, taking a bigger bite of his twig and spilling bark and spittle on the floor of the examining room. He drew a parchment sheet out – _The Release _was what King Edmund called it, though Jina did not understand what was being released from what. Taking a quill from an inkstand on his desk, the Physician dabbed a paw with ink and signed the bottom of the Release page with his print.

Lady Morgan slid off the table and from an arm's length, gingerly took the quill (in his paw).

The Rodent pointed to the line at the bottom of the page with his twig. "You'll need to attest that whilst in Narnia you have not been coerced, injured, or manipulated, save for those Crow scratches."

"It's in Sections 31 and 32, already," Lady Morgan responded, which made no sense to Jina at all. She only comprehended about a third of what Lady Morgan said.

The Banker took her time reading the Release, frowning as she did so, and Jina sensed disapproval. The Physician was unconcerned and continued chewing on his twigs.

Whatever was troubling her was not, however, impeding, and Lady Morgan signed the Release with a flourish. "Do you have another copy? I can see you're trying to prevent extortion and blackmail, but I think the wording's sloppy."

The Physician waved his paw. "Thatz fwn," he mumbled around a mouthful of bark. "Twk it up wid Kwng Edmd. He wowt it." Rooting around on his desk, the Rodent found another Release and handed it to Lady Morgan, who took the parchment from him at the very furthest tip of its corner.

Swallowing his snack, the Physician shuffled back to his crammed bookshelf. The Rodent had scholarly pretensions and was always trying to publish his monographs in Calormene journals. He had long sought invitations to physicians' meetings but none had been able to accommodate his special needs. "Lady Gorgan, if you would?"

The Banker cautiously approached and attentively studied the stacks of parchment, scrolls, and ledgers of the Physician's library. According to the Rats who had been trailing her, Lady Morgan had already spent three dull days in the Tower Library reading about Narnian laws and history. Jina hoped they would not be spending such time in the Physician's office. It would be very tedious and in such close company to the Physician painful injury was certain to result.

The Physician gestured to his sagging, groaning bookshelves. "I understand you are interested in Narnia's ways, Lady Gorgan, so here are my contributions. You've read Pliny the Elder's _Animalia and Botanica_, of course."

"Yes!" Her endorsement was enthusiastic.

Jina sighed. They were going to be here a while longer judging from Lady Morgan's bubbling zeal.

"_Pliny's_ is an excellent source document, but it's dated, in my opinion. Also, it suffers from observer bias."

Jina managed to not growl her protest.

"Here are my better and more comprehensive monographs," and he began methodically removing titles from the shelves for Lady Morgan's ecstatic perusal.

_Communication – Talk With The Animals, Learn Their Languages  
Comparative Analysis of Beast and Dumb Societies – How the Other Half Lives  
__Mating and Bonding Systems of Primates Explained – It Doesn't Make Any Sense To Me Either  
Medical Care In Narnia – Open Wide And Say Ouch  
Materia Medica – Guide To Common Narnian Ailments And Their Cures  
__Botanicals, Homeopathy, and Pharmaceutics: Compounding Medicines Without Killing The Patient__  
A Guide To Preventatives –Certified Canine Specialists For When Reliability Really Matters__  
What To Expect When You're Expecting  
__What To Expect In Infancy  
How To Survive The Rebellious Adolescent Without Murdering Your Offspring __  
Caring for the Elderly of the Herd__  
Counseling The Bereaved  
A Practical Guide to the Three Year Bonded Pair Presumption_

Lady Morgan eagerly plucked each Monograph from the Physician's paws, with coos of interest, thereby encouraging the Rodent to further eccentricities and digressions.

As he began rooting through the species-specific titles, Jina decided to end it.

"Lady Morgan?"

The Physician looked up. "Who's that?"

"Oh!" Lady Morgan exclaimed, reaching for another ledger. "What about that series on _The_ _Circle of Life_! And _Digestive Systems of Ruminants_!"

"Lady Morgan!" Jina butted her head into the woman's side. "It is time to attend the Queen Lucy and prepare for your Telmar journey."

"Bad business there," the Physician said grimly, forgetting himself briefly and gnawing on the edge of his wooden bookcase. "She-Beaver Jezebel ought never to have crossed Mrs. Beaver."

Lady Morgan was now juggling a hefty of collection of books and scrolls. With a swish of his bristling tail that caused them both to jump back in alarm, the Physician shoved a wooden box toward Lady Morgan.

"Put them in there, and I'll want them all back," the Physician muttered, beginning to strip another length of branch and eating it.

"Thank you, Sir," Lady Morgan said, dumping all into the box, and still looking longingly at the bookshelf. Her already considerable reading material had made barely a dent in the Physician's enormous collection of minutiae.

It took a few more forceful shoves before Lady Morgan could be persuaded to leave the Physician's macabre office.

To her credit, Lady Morgan was learning. They were climbing the stairs, and well out of earshot of the prickly Rodent, before the Banker finally hissed, "Jina! Why did no one tell me the Cair Paravel Physician was a _Porcupine_?"

* * *

_Chapter 2: Up A River or Mrs. Furner's Revenge_

In which Queen Lucy mediates a dicey stand-off between a Grove of Willows and a Beaver tart named Jezebel, letters are exchanged, and there is an intelligence briefing.

It's back to TQSiT now. With Evil Banker Morgan still fresh in our minds from Chapter 15, I did want to try this out. Updates will be squeezed between other things and, frankly, depend on reader interest. If you are interested, I'll pander to it.

I was remiss in failing to point out earlier that **Andi Horton **first noted the document eating propensity of Goats in her stories. What? You are not reading her fabulous and recently finished _Kingdom's Come_? Her lovely _The Water Witch_? The adventures of Cor and Aravis in _Someone Else's Story?_ What are you waiting for?

* * *

PS: Why is Morgan calling Edmund, "Harold?"

From _By Royal Decree_:

_Out of the darkness, beyond the light of the bonfire, Jalur said in a very irritated tone, "Oh, just be done with it and tell her to call you 'Harold.'"_

_Harold?_

_Evil Banker Morgan choked on her ale and started coughing into her Crow-tattered sleeve._

_"Jalur, what are you talking about?"..._

_Edmund turned to her. "Do you know what he meant?"_

_In a very neutral, flat voice, Evil Banker Morgan said, "From this morning. When you expressed a willingness under some circumstances for any name save, 'father,' 'brother,' and 'Peter.' Jalur was suggesting I call you 'Harold.'"_


	2. Chapter 2 Up A River

**Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance**  
**Chapter 2**  
**Up A River**** -- _in which there is a Beaver named Jezebel and repercussions to honey and sweet cream._**

Because I simply had to post something about Evil Banker Morgan and her admiration of Harold's accountancy skills on April 15, the day on which Americans pay their taxes. It is further the time when millions of us suffer through runny noses, red eyes and headaches due to the licentious activity of lusty, pollinating trees. Apologies to those who have seen parts of this before in my LJ. It has been revised, expanded and edited. With added context! I wholly blame this update upon **Metonomia**, **Ilysia**, and our comment fic, "Show me your abaci." **Autumnia** also bears responsibility, as will be seen.

Rated T, but then you knew that.

When last we left off, Lucy and Evil Banker Morgan were off to the Telmar basin to address the problems posed by the Beaver tart, Jezebel. Others traveling with them include: Sallowpad, Chief of the Murder of the Narnian Intelligence Service, Arms Master Roblang (Red Dwarf), Lucy's Guard, She-Wolf Briony, and Morgan's Guard, Jina, Lady Hound. Susan and Edmund are stuck at Cair Paravel doing taxes with Mrs. Furner, the Housekeeper, vowing revenge upon King Edmund.

Chapter 3, a continuation, _Connect the Dots_ will follow shortly.

* * *

Dear Morgan:

Subject: Things that are better in conception than execution. Also, "It seemed like a good idea at the time"

One word: Ants

With warm regard,

Harold

PS: Am I reading section 438(d) of the Lone Island Tax Code correctly in that it says the tax on Narnia fish is higher than the tax on Calormen fish taken from ships docking at Narrowhaven? How does one distinguish Narnian fish from Calormen fish?

PPS: Jalur says 'hello.'

* * *

Master Roblang had set up his bedroll, camp table, and stool next to a Willow. He asked politely and the Dryad within stated he had no objection to Roblang hanging a towel or kit on one of the Tree's sturdy branches. The Dryad kindly lowered and shaped a limb to an appropriate Dwarf-sized height for him.

They were three days out, the weather was fair, and Queen Lucy had her first meeting with She-Beaver Jezebel in the morning. Using the fading spring light, he sat at his makeshift desk, intending to record his observations of the day for Queen Susan.

It was not to be, however, for he overheard Jina and Lady Morgan arguing about something that involved him. As was proper, he pretended to not hear the exchange. They were in Narnia where true privacy was nearly impossible and moreover in the close quarters of camp where privacy was always impossible. As you would be overheard, courtesy dictated that you ignored what was said until spoken directly to you.

"Lady Morgan, I assure you, it is a most common request and if you are too reluctant to ask our good Arms Master, I shall."

Without waiting for further argument, Jina trotted to his table. "Master Roblang, might I have a word?"

Roblang set down his quill as if he had not heard them. "Yes, Lady Hound, how might I serve?"

"It is for Lady Morgan."

He looked up at the peculiar woman hovering at his side and nodded courteously to her. Lady Morgan was clutching a handkerchief in one hand and in the other, the letter Harah the Crow Hen had brought that day from King Edmund.

"Yes?"

"I want to send a letter to …" Here she stumbled, sneezed, and then blurted, "King Edmund."

"Of course. We will be camping here some days until Queen Lucy finishes this business with Jezebel. Harah would gladly return to Cair Paravel tomorrow with your letter for the King." Crows were always hanging about and while they might go where asked, returning was a much chancier thing. An unexpected benefit to having Lady Morgan with them was that the mere promise of a strand of her hair was sufficient for the Crows to line up in a jostling scrum for the opportunity to scout and carry messages with a rapid return.

The look on Lady Morgan's face was one of concern and anxiety. He glanced at Jina and indeed the sensitive Hound's brows were knit with worry. Jina pushed her nose into Lady Morgan's hand and the woman collapsed onto a tree stomp with a frustrated groan.

"Lady Morgan, speak plainly of your difficulty to Master Roblang. I assure you, your request is most common in Narnia. What you seek is part of our Master's duties."

Intrigued, he looked to the Banker. What would the Lone Island Banker require of him?

"I need help with the writing," Lady Morgan finally whispered after a long, anguished pause. "I don't write well."

This was even more intriguing, though a Hound such as Jina would not understand why. Lady Morgan was, according to Sallowpad, a Human of some status in the Lone Islands. Roblang had understood through Lady Willa, the Rat Doe spy, that Lady Morgan's position in the Lone Islands was such that she should have been afforded a visit of State. Yet, she had come to Narnia, not under false pretenses, precisely; she had merely failed to inform them of her full particulars. That a Human of this status had difficulty writing was unexpected and curious. Jina, not knowing any better, was expressing the Narnian view, not the Human view. He would respond in kind and make note of the observation for his report to Queen Susan.

"Lady Morgan, Jina is quite correct. Given that many, indeed most Narnians, do not have hands, they routinely rely upon others to assist them with written communication. I would be glad to take dictation for you."

"Oh! Would you!?" She was gushing with relief. "I am fine with numbers and tallies, and I'm deft at drafting, though not as brilliant as Ha… King Edmund." She sneezed again and then rattled on. "But I usually have minions handle my written correspondence and…" Lady Morgan trailed off looking embarrassed, perhaps realizing only after she had said it that 'minion' was not an appropriate term in these circumstances.

He was reminded of what the Talking Beasts had said – Lady Morgan had the manners of a Crow.

"Shall we begin then?"

"There's just one thing, Sir."

Her use, misuse and abuse of titles was another matter of which he had been warned. Truly, the Banker was a very interesting study. "Yes, Lady Morgan?"

Her eyes darted about and Jina sighed, for however quietly Lady Morgan whispered, the Beasts would overhear her.

"Do you keep confidences?"

"I take dictation, so of course it is in confidence," Roblang explained patiently. "Regardless, as your issue is with the facility of writing, rather than its knowledge…" He paused and she gave a confirming nod, "I may leave additional space and you can add other personal content. Would that ease you?"

Narnians were necessarily open and broad minded -- it could not be otherwise with Dryads pollinating on the lawns, so many Mammals and Birds in Spring heats, and Crows wagering on every outcome. Master Roblang had no idea what might pass between his King and the Banker apart from the obvious and did not wish to know of intimate details anymore than the parties involved would wish to share them. However, the more that was observed of Lady Morgan, the greater ease there would be.

As he discussed with Jina later, he found it had not mattered. Guile was not in Lady Morgan's nature and like the Crows who were claiming her as one of their own, she was forthright to a fault. Even parsing through her very rapid dictation, Roblang understood barely a third of what he wrote for Lady Morgan. It was as impenetrable as Rat and Crow.

* * *

Dear Harold:

Subject: Fish and ants

I suppose the ants were attracted to the honey and sweet cream and came to your rooms. Oops. Do you have an anteater at Cair Paravel?

With warm regard,

Morgan

PS: Yes, you are reading section 438(d) correctly. The cross referenced section 1331, _definitions_, defines Narnian fish as those taken from Narnian waters. In practice the harbourmaster makes the determination, and if he thinks it looks like a Narnia fish, you pay Narnian tax.

PPS: Jina, Lucy, Master Roblang, and Sallowpad say 'hello'

* * *

"I feel the utter fool, Master Roblang," Queen Lucy muttered as they waited by the pond, she on a stool, he standing in attendance. "Bringing all this baggage so I might look regal is ridiculous!"

Next to her Queen, the She-Wolf, Briony, growled her disagreement. "You look imposing and proper. Mrs. Furner packed very economically and the extra trunk was no burden for the wagon team."

"I do not _like_ to look imposing and proper," Queen Lucy growled in return. "It is uncomfortable and puts distance between me and others. I would rather just wade into the pond and meet Jezebel at her lodge. Though I admit…" The Queen shaded her hand over her eyes and gazed out over the water, "it is not a very nice lodge."

"Indeed not, your Majesty," Roblang said. Jezebel had done a very poor job of it – and as a Dwarf he knew what to look for and was a great admirer of Beaver engineering. "As to your appearance, we had it from Mrs. Beaver herself that Jezebel is very aware of such trappings. You are communicating authority in a way she respects and to your advantage."

"A fashion conscious Beaver," Queen Lucy said with a snort. "I suppose I must use all those royal We's as well."

"That is my recommendation," Roblang responded. From behind Queen Lucy's seat, he tugged the Great Lion banner of Narnia so it unfurled full and straight from the pole. Next to it hung the Queen's own banner – scarlet Lion rampant in the first quadrant, heart and cordial in the second and third quadrants, and the fourth repeating the Lion rampant with sword which identified her status as a Knight in the Order of the Lion. In what surely qualified as far too much pomp but was an undoubted symbol of her authority, Queen Lucy's naked sword rested on a rack. Her customary dagger hung at her hip.

"She comes!" Briony whispered.

A brown shape bobbed on the surface of the pond and began moving toward them with lazy strokes. The She-Beaver had come from her under water entrance of the lodge. At the shore, she scrambled up, flicking the muck of the pond off her paws with distaste like that of a house cat in water.

`"Hail and well met, Jezebel," Queen Lucy said.

The Beaver tiptoed up, delicately avoiding the mud until she stood on green grass. Standing up on her hind legs, she waved her paws about.

"Oh! Your Majesty! Queen Lucy! You are so beautiful! Please give me a moment!"

"A moment only, She-Beaver," Queen Lucy said, most pompously. Roblang swallowed his guffaw, for the speech was so very much out of character for the Valiant Queen.

Jezebel began frantically pawing through her fur. Even for a Beaver, it was richly dark and lush. Her combing, however, took much longer than a moment.

So they waited while Jezebel rubbed and massaged her fur.

When her paws tangled in a burr under her forearm, she cried out, "Oh! Oh! I do not suppose any of you have a comb?"

Queen Lucy's face pinked up with laughter, but she managed a severe countenance. "No, Jezebel, We do not. Please complete your grooming. We grow impatient and such impatience will not aid your plea."

The Beaver primped and plumped her fur. "A mirror? Do you have a mirror? I truly am not looking my best!"

The Queen's shoulders were nearly shaking with laughter, but her choking managed to sound severe rather than amused. "She-Beaver this is enough!"

Jezebel gave a long suffering sigh and shuffled forward, still primping and combing her fur with her clever paws. "Yes, my Queen," she said with a mighty sniff. "I only wished to look pretty on the occasion of this royal visit. You are looking most splendid today, your Majesty!"

The Beaver executed a deft little curtsey, rather remarkable all things considered given her confirmation, large haunches, and flat tail. She had enormous, liquid eyes, long, curling lashes and whiskers, and continued to comb her fur nervously. Her rich fur did glisten in the sunlight but really, the Beaver was reminding him less of a Talking Beast and more of the tiresome Princesses who were forever overstaying their welcome at Cair Paravel.

"We thank you, Jezebel for your compliments," Lucy intoned.

The Beaver peered closely at Queen Lucy and then squeaked in amazement. "Oh, Queen Lucy! Are those bows on your gown?"

"They are," Queen Lucy replied, politely, her eyes widening slightly in surprise at the Beaver's cheek. As informal as Queen Lucy preferred things, Jezebel was not treating the matter with the gravity that was warranted. She seemed to have forgotten that it was her Monarch who had come and that this was not a social call.

"The bows are ever so beautiful!" Jezebel squeaked. "I have seen them so seldom. I should very much like some myself. Do you not think bows would be attractive in my soft, shiny fur? What color do you suppose? I don't see color well and that is such a tragedy for I would have even more excellent taste if I did…"

Queen Lucy leaned forward on her stool and snapped her fingers at Jezebel. "Attend to me, She-Beaver!"

Jezebel stared forward, her nose and whiskers twitching, paws nervously working through the hair at her sides. "Yes, Queen Lucy?"

"You have sought to disrupt a mated Beaver pair, in violation of the Law On The Three Year Bonded Presumption; you have moved your lodging to a place that disturbs the peace of other Narnians without their leave; and to that end you have eaten willow saplings without the permission of their Grove parents."

"Well, now, about that last one, Queen Lucy," the Beaver began, sounding so high-handed Briony growled.

"I suggest you rephrase that statement, She-Beaver," Briony said through a grimace of teeth. The others Guards, in Roblang's experience, remained silent during a Monarch's business. Briony and Queen Lucy worked as a more public team, with Briony providing aggressive persuasion to the Queen's gentler, but no less firm, argument.

With a shifty glance and another comb through her fur, Jezebel began again, more politely. "Begging your pardon, Queen Lucy, but I never ate Dryad trees."

"And a very good thing that is, She-Beaver!" the Queen snapped angrily. "To even say or threaten such a thing is _most_ displeasing to me!" She was so angry, she was slipping out of her royal "we" and "us." "Had you sought to eat a Dryad's Tree you would be before the Just King on charges of attempted Murder of a Being of Narnia!"

"But willow is so delicious to a Beaver, Queen Lucy!"

"All the more reason why you should not have lodged here, in a place so long held by the Willow Grove where this terrible temptation would exist."

"But I've built my home here!" Jezebel cried. "I've already been driven out the Beaversdam area by that awful harridan, Mrs. Beaver, and…"

With Briony's savage, fanged snarl and Jezebel's profound insult to one the Queen held most dear, the remainder of the session was not, Roblang had to concede, a success.

* * *

Dear Morgan:

Subject: Things that are better in conception than execution. Also, "It seemed like a good idea at the time"

The ants bite.

I have also endured a long and furious lecture from Mrs. Furner on the subject of laundry.

With warm regard,

Harold

PS: Section 438(d) sounds fishy, to pardon the pun. Should I assume the harbourmaster who determines if the fish is a Narnian fish receives a fee for his services and that it is higher if fish are taxed under Narnian rates?

PPS: At your suggestion, I had an Anteater in my rooms to eat the ants. She has very poor eyesight, is a bit thick, and is very hard to understand, given how her mouth and nose are shaped. Her tongue is very sticky and she sheds. See above regarding Mrs. Furner and laundry – this was another matter on which our housekeeper has vented her ire upon my poor person. Also, because her eyesight is so poor, the Anteater routinely mistakes noses for places where ants may be hiding.

* * *

Dear Harold:

Subject: Ant bites

Do you have the bites, or does the Anteater?

With warm regards,

Morgan

PS: Yes, the whole business with the harbourmasters' bribes – for that is what they are – is fishy.

PPS: Have you found a solution to the allergies in addition to the saltwater nasal rinse? Does an Anteater's sticky tongue up your nose get rid of the pollen? I am in much less misery being among Willows. They are either less active or I am not allergic to them. Either way I recommend it.

* * *

Dear Morgan:

Subject: Ant bites

Unfortunately, it is I who is bitten. Everywhere. I am now sneezing _and_ itching.

With warm regards,

Harold

PS – How significant are the "commissions" going to the harbourmaster? If the taxes were equalized, so that the same rate is paid on Calormene and Narnian fish, who would be harmed?

PPS – Regrettably, no, an Anteater tongue up the nose does not do anything about pollen at all. I wish I was not speaking from personal experience. Indeed, as the tongue is sticky, the results in the nose are counter-productive.

PPPS – I am glad to hear of the Willows and their (lack of) proclivities. I too have found them less aggravating to my condition.

* * *

Queen Lucy was stomping about the campsite not bothering to conceal her rage at the Beaver tart. Jezebel had taken to refusing to come out of her lodge at all and they seemed to be at an impasse. The lodge was falling down about her ears and they might have to just wait her out. In what was surely the first time in recorded Narnian history, they had found Jezebel was a very vain and lazy Beaver.

Roblang sat against a log, seeing to the camp mending. Apart from the usual splits in much used things from the burden of the road, Lady Morgan required some extra care. In not a ten-day, she had put a tear in the side of her tent, a rip in the length of her borrowed split skirt, and had shredded a sleeve and a blanket. If there was something to trip over, fall into, stumble upon, drop, or fumble with, Lady Morgan managed it. He had tested her eyesight, wondering if perhaps she did not see well. She did see, and perfectly clearly, but Roblang was coming to Jina's view that Lady Morgan did not see the world as other Humans did. Under no circumstances would he trust her with a needle. He would rather deal with the mending himself than give her a sharp object. It had taken some very quick action and whispered words to prevent Queen Lucy from adding knife throwing to the skills she had generously, but unwisely, sought to teach Lady Morgan.

"Why not just order Jezebel out and lock her up?" Lady Morgan said from his camp table. She was (again) working laboriously on the private parts of her very regular (and reciprocated) correspondence to King Edmund.

Queen Lucy laughed, a little bitterly. "Because, Morgan, that is not how we accomplish things in Narnia." She threw off her fine surcoat with exasperation. A Willow branch swooped down from above and gently caught the garment before it fell to the ground.

"Thank you, Lady," the Queen said graciously. "You keep me more presentable than I could manage alone!"

"She has also barricaded herself in the lodge," Roblang put in. "We would have to lure her out."

"Send the Otters in," Lady Morgan said happily. "They'd love the challenge and have an appetite for destruction!"

"A possibility," Queen Lucy said kindly, gently removing her Crown and rubbing her temples. "I worry of controlling the Otters, however."

Lady Morgan sneezed, blew her nose, then blurted, "Jezebel's like a Princess or Tarkheena.".

Queen Lucy had learned, as they all had, that although Lady Morgan had very good ideas, they were often expressed so poorly or incoherently, they required a certain amount of "unpacking."

So, the Queen said slowly and clearly, "What do you mean, Morgan?"

Lady Morgan, her tongue between her teeth, was working on her letter, under her breath spelling out A-D-D-E…

"Morgan?" Queen Lucy said more firmly. With a requesting look from her Queen, Jina the Hound sighed and pushed her nose into Lady Morgan's side.

"Oh! Yes, Jina?"

"Morgan, what did you mean about Jezebel reminding you of Princesses and Tarkheenas," Queen Lucy repeated.

"She reminds me of some of the girls whose dowries I've managed. Not stupid, but not trained to do anything either except be ornamental for their husbands."

"And so these _useless_ _girls _are married off like property to adorn _some King's arm and bed_?" Queen Lucy spoke so harshly Briony growled, and he and Jina both flinched.

Lady Morgan continued on, blithely ignorant to the Queen's angry undercurrent. "It's not the only option, but it's one of the easiest maybe even the cheapest, for a girl to pass from father to husband, the higher the status the better. King, Tarkaan, or any rich Lord with substantial staff and properties might do. It's why Narnia is such a target you know. Brilliant how King Edmund's managed it so far, though I've got some suggestions for improvement. You should take some of those frauds to arbitration for breach of the courtship agreement. That would show them." She spoke with such vicious satisfaction, it was alarming.

"And Jezebel?" Jina prompted, bringing Lady Morgan back to the topic.

The Banker shrugged, dabbed her quill in the inkwell and continued her painstaking drafting. "Train Jezebel up so she can support herself or marry her off to someone who will."

"Chief!" Lady Morgan suddenly called, interrupting her own disjointed conversation. "You're about aren't you?"

"I am!" Sallowpad, the venerable Raven, flapped down from his tree and she automatically held out an arm for him to land. Roblang suspected Sallowpad had been reading Lady Morgan's letter to King Edmund over her shoulder. He thought also that Lady Morgan knew it and had decided to permit it. Sallowpad was independently preparing his own report for Queen Susan on Lady Morgan that dealt with the financial business and the Rat and Crow.

Sallowpad hopped from her arm to the table and cocked his head to the side. "Of what does my King write?"

"He's asking about the harbourmaster syndicates again," Lady Morgan said, polite duty to Queen Lucy forgotten as she began running after fish taxes in the Lone Islands.

"The whole fish trade stinks. The harbourmasters skim so much off the top in bribes and pay so much in kickbacks it affects the ROI and makes calculating an expected return very unreliable. I don't like it when profits depend on the size of someone else's bribe."

"So the House of Linch is not involved in bribing the harbourmasters and receiving kickbacks from them?" Sallowpad asked.

"I don't think so," Lady Morgan said absently, studying her letter. "I'd not recommend it and I'd fire anyone who did to a client. I'd have to audit it to be sure."

Roblang was trying to follow the conversation. He thought that Sallowpad had just bluntly asked Lady Morgan if her House was involved in illegal activity and the Banker had apparently provided an answer in the negative so unthinkingly and shockingly blunt it was probably truthful.

"He wants to know what you think would happen if the rates between the fish were equalized…"

The conversation between them devolved into something very technical. Jina sighed audibly and lay down again, putting her brown and white head between her paws.

With a sigh of her own, Queen Lucy crossed the clearing and flopped down on to the grass next to him. Hiking up her skirts, she kicked off her shoes, and wriggled her toes. She looked thoughtfully at Lady Morgan, whose conversation with the Raven was obviously much more animated than that with Humans.

"As much I dislike thinking so ill of any Narnian, I see some merit to Morgan's observation, Master."

"I had made the same comparison when we met Jezebel the first day," he admitted, tying off a thread on a blanket. Roblang began carefully threading the mending needle again.

Queen Lucy drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. "I have been so irritated with our Princesses lately, I do not wish to see their ilk in any Talking Beast. Perhaps Princess behavior is a contagious disease?"

"If so, it is a peculiar contagion that it affects a Beaver but not our Queens."

She smiled at the compliment, and nodding her thanks.

"We have been assuming Jezebel is a hardworking, diligent Narnian." Queen Lucy frowned, plainly unhappy to draw this conclusion. With forced cheerfulness, she added, "Sometimes, an outsider's view is helpful, if for perspective, if nothing else."

"Lady Morgan did also suggest to me that we have one of the Gryphons pick up Jezebel and dump her into another Beaver community. I had to tell her that we do not know where our Narnians are or how many, and that we cannot just deposit a stranger into an established Beaver Lodge even if we did know where they were."

Queen Lucy laughed, this time more easily. "So you too heard her ideas for a census?"

"Perhaps more vigorously than you did, my Queen."

Briony humphed and settled next to her Queen. "Lady Morgan expresses her ideas either barely at all or to excess. There appears to be no middle place."

Leaning over, Queen Lucy said softly in her Guard's ear, "At least she has ideas, Briony, and often very good ones. I can forgive how she expresses them given that she has them at all. But we must return to our problem and try to find a new tactic!" The Queen leaned back against a fallen log and began picking a piece of bark. "If we had a Princess who could not live on her own without the support of a husband, what would we do with her?"

Queen Lucy's answer occurred to him at the same moment as Briony. The Wolf growled. "Mrs. Furner will be very unhappy with you!"

The Queen sighed. "Admittedly, we do not see many Beavers in the Cair Paravel staff, but Jezebel might find something that engages her."

"The Crows work for Shinys and Lady Morgan's hair; the Rats for food," Roblang said, folding over the hem and setting to work with the careful flat stitch. Mrs. Furner would have his own ears for slippers if he let their company return looking like beggars on the road. "Something might serve for Jezebel as well, if she can be persuaded to work for it."

"Master Roblang!"

He looked up from the neat row stitched in the tough green skirt hem. "My Queen?"

She placed her hands on his arms, a smile lighting her face, truly happy for the first time since their first arrival. "You are brilliant! I shall write to Susan tonight!"

Gently, Queen Lucy pushed the mending to the side. "Would you play your drum now? That I might try to teach Lady Morgan some dancing steps again?"

He shook his head. "I would be happy to dance with you myself, Queen Lucy, or play so that you might dance with any of our company. But, for the sake of our feet and shins, and her dignity, I do not recommend that Lady Morgan should try to dance."

* * *

Dear Harold:

Subject: Recompense for ant bites

As recompense for the ant bites on your person, sticky tongues in your nose, and lectures by Mrs. Furner, all endured in part due to my negligent contribution, I propose to connect your ant bites, one to the next. If this is acceptable, please add that as an addendum to the contract. You can read it to me, while I connect your dots.

With warm regards,

Morgan

PS: If the tax were equalized, either those bringing in Caloremene fish would pay a higher tax (which I do not recommend) or the harbormasters would see a decrease in their income. The latter would affect fewer and probably be less disruptive. However, Sallowpad believes the bribes the harbormasters take are significant, but says his information is old. Further, and I do not know the answer to this, is whether any ship flying non-Narnian colors ever pays the higher Narnian fish tax. I suspect the answer is no. This means that Calormene ships pay lower fees to do business in the Lone Islands as compared to Narnian ships.

PPS: Be certain the connect the dots addendum specifies the method of performance. I dislike ambiguity. I specifically draw your attention to alternative modes of performance that are similar to, yet thoroughly distinct from, sticky Anteater tongue. I eagerly await your reply.

* * *

Dear Morgan:

Subject: Connect the dots

I accept the proposed terms of the addendum. I wrote a first draft of the addendum today; Jalur suspects truancy.

With warm (and sneezing, itching) regard,

Harold

PS: What is Sallowpad's opinion on options? The point about whether this is really just an opportunity to levy a higher cost upon Narnian fishermen sailing in Calormene waters seems likely. It is disturbing that the Lone Islands are so bluntly punitive to Narnian interests.

* * *

Dear Harold:

Subject: Recompense

It occurs to me further that if your ant bites fade before my return, we will need to identify a reasonable substitute so that performance on the addendum may be accomplished. As mentioned in my previous correspondence, it shall be necessary to establish by what means I should connect the dots, and these performance provisions should be set forth with some specificity and memorialized in writing. I again commend this matter to your creative attention and formidable draftsmanship.

Tell Jalur the contract addendum is at my request and so is not truancy, but a matter of urgent, pressing, and considerable interest to this representative to Narnia of the House of Linch.

With warm regard,

Morgan

* * *

Dear Morgan:

Subject: Alternative Methods of Executing Connect the Dots

I completed the contract addendum today. It is _**quite long**_, so it will take some time to read it aloud. I have identified several alternative methods of execution that do not involve indelible ink and more closely resemble Anteater anatomy. I look forward to discussing the matter privately on your return and execution of the addendum in accordance with its terms.

Jalur has confirmed my truancy (see above), and asks me to inform you that while he appreciates the mitigation that it is done in deference to the request of a Banker of the House of Linch, he deigns to scold you for encouraging my digression to this pressing and urgent contractual addendum when there are issues of taxation to be understood and resolved. As recompense to him I endured the Otters today. The Otters miss you.

With warm (and still itching and sneezing) regard,

Harold

* * *

Dear Harold:

Subject: Contract Addendum

_**How long **_is your connect the dots addendum?

Anxiously awaiting your reply,

Morgan

* * *

Dear Morgan:

Subject: Contract Addendum

Very. Long.

Anxiously awaiting your return,

Harold

* * *

**_Chapter 3, Connect the Dots_**, to follow

**_Chapter 4_**, (and it's all **Autumnia**'s fault), _**Body Count **_(aka Harold, Morgan, and the Narnian Census)

As this chapter was pushing 10,000 words, I split it. The second should follow relatively soon and then it's back to the concluding chapters of_ The Queen Susan in Tashbaan_. Happy Tax Day! Enjoy better living through non-sedating antihistamines!


	3. Chapter 3 Connect The Dots

**Harold and Morgan: Not a Romance**  
**_Chapter 3, Connect The Dots_**  
_In which a Beaver tart is managed and a contract addendum is performed according to lengthy terms. With added Otter._

_**T!**_ There is execution and performance on a lengthy contract addendum. More seriously, there is a profanity spewing Otter! With apologies to those who have seen bits of this before in my LJ, but now with context.

Thanks to **Metonomia** for the last minute QC check._  
_

* * *

Dear Harold:

Subject: Harbourmaster situation

In the anticipation of the contract addendum, I neglected to answer your questions. If the tax was equalized, either those bringing in Caloremene fish would pay a higher tax (which I do not recommend) or the harbourmasters would see a decrease in their bribery income. The latter would affect fewer and probably be less disruptive.

Sallowpad believes that the bribes the harbourmasters take are significant, but says his information is old. He would prefer lowering the Narnia tax and doing something about the harbourmasters' lost compensation, although he dislikes compensating them for losing bribes they should not have collected in the first place. He has also heard rumors that changing the bribery and extortion scheme would be especially difficult because the harbourmasters are paying protection or kickbacks to one of the banking syndicates, perhaps the House of Stanleh or the House of Sterns.

Eagerly awaiting perusal of the lengthy contract addendum,

Morgan

* * *

Dear Morgan:

Subject: Harbourmaster situation

Please inform Sallowpad that I am sending some Crows to Narrowhaven to investigate the harbourmaster syndicates. I feel we need more information about this activity before we can begin to address this and so many of the other issues that revision to the Code entails.

It had not occurred to me that harbourmasters are paying kickbacks and protection to the banking syndicates. This would create yet another incentive to keep the inequitable situation as it is. It seems we cannot alter one thing without disturbing other settled (though corrupt) expectations. I admit to finding this revision a very daunting task.

At the risk of impertinence, please confirm in writing that the House of Linch is not receiving such compensation in the form of kickbacks, bribes, or protection monies. If the House of Linch is receiving such sums, I deem the failure to disclose a material breach that will require renegotiation of and potentially termination of the contract covering the term of your stay in Narnia.

With warm regards,

Harold

* * *

Dear Harold:

Subject: Harbourmaster situation

Sallowpad suggests sending some Rats aboard Narnian ships bound for the Lone Islands as well. I agree that you need more information; what lacks is not limited to this situation alone. I will discuss it further with Sallowpad and recommend you consider as well how to increase Narnia's overall surveillance presence in the Lone Islands.

By separate cover I include the requested attestation to the syndicate matter on behalf of myself and my House to the extent of my authority.

As for the task being daunting, if you didn't think revision of the Tax Code was daunting, you would be stupid and you and I would not be having this exchange. You don't have the experience (yet) and your considerable intellect can only carry you so far. What's lacking is the training, not the fundamental analytical ability.

With warm regards,

Morgan

* * *

To: The King Edmund, Narnia, known as The Just, Knight of the Table, Duke of the Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March

From: Associate Director Morgan, House of Linch, Narrowhaven  
Director, Portfolio Management

Pursuant to your request, I write to confirm that in my personal knowledge, I am unaware of sums being paid to the House of Linch by harbourmasters of Narrowhaven, Lone Islands, that would constitute "protection," "bribes," or kickbacks." (See definitions of terms in Attachment A). I caution, however, that in this I cannot attest to the practices of the House of Linch in its entirety but only to that within my personal knowledge. If Narnia wishes greater assurance, I recommend that Narnia undertake an audit.

* * *

To: Associate Director Morgan, House of Linch, Narrowhaven  
Director, Portfolio Management

From: The King Edmund, Narnia, known as The Just, Knight of the Table, Duke of the Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March

I acknowledge receipt of your attestation and thank you for your quick response. I shall take under advisement the recommendation of an audit. Do you have an individual you would recommend to undertake the task?

* * *

To: The King Edmund, Narnia, known as The Just, Knight of the Table, Duke of the Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March

From: Associate Director Morgan, House of Linch, Narrowhaven  
Director, Portfolio Management

Recommendation of a suitable auditor is a difficult matter. Typically, a sovereign sends his or her own trusted adviser, a Minister of Finance or Counsel of the Exchequer, with whom the House is eager to cooperate.

In my opinion, the only Narnian sufficiently skilled to conduct the audit would be yourself or, possibly, Sallowpad or Queen Susan. I understand that Lady Willa may also have some of the requisite skill set. I see difficulty in sending a Talking Beast to conduct an audit and a Monarch doing so would be considered highly irregular. We should discuss this issue further as no easy solution presents itself.

* * *

Dear Banker Morgan:

I have been advised, in person by the Queen Susan, and in writing by the Queen Lucy, that I was exceptionally rude in my demand for written confirmation that you are unaware of inappropriate compensation flowing from the harbourmasters to the House of Linch. Jalur has forcefully reinforced the point (the irony of being taught manners by a Tiger should be duly noted).

To that end, I apologize for my rude and impertinent demand.

Sincerely,

Edmund, The Just King, Duke of the Lantern Waste, etc. etc.

* * *

Dear Harold:

Rude? It wasn't rude. It was very sensible to ask if I was taking money to the harm of Narnia, and really you should have asked sooner. Trust but Verify. I wish you had more than just my word to rely upon, but that's all you have for now, so it will have to do until we devise something better. That's circular, I know, which shows up the problem.

This won't interfere with my performance of the addendum to the contract, will it? Can I still connect your dots? They are still there, aren't they?

Impatient to begin appropriate performance,

Morgan

* * *

Dear Morgan:

Subject: Lengthy Contract Addendum

Jalur requests your return as soon as possible. He insists I inform you that truancy or not, I am becoming irritable and difficult, which of course is not true at all. I am no more difficult and irritable than usual. Nevertheless, as mutual exchange of consideration is necessary for any contract or its subsequent addendum to be binding, I concede that your performance and execution of the revised and lengthy addendum in accordance with its terms would likely have a temporarily salubrious effect upon my normal state of irritability.

Crows have departed with two charges; first to focus upon the Harbourmaster syndicate and second to gather information more generally in the markets. After further thought, I have decided to wait on sending the Rats until your return and we can brief them more thoroughly.

Impatient for you to begin appropriate performance,

Harold

* * *

Roblang would have expected a rabble so loud they would have heard it from a league away. It was odd enough that a Wing of _three_ Gryphons was coming to their small camp; that the Crows accompanying them did so silently, without ruckus, likely meant one thing. Squinting into the glare of the bright morning sun, he looked for and saw the telltale glint of gold on a Gryphon's scarlet collar. Cupping his hands, he roared back to camp, "Queen Lucy! Sallowpad! Briony! Jina! All hands! The General is coming!"

They had been expecting the Flight bringing the materials and personnel necessary to conclude this business with Jezebel. It had been surprising enough that the Aerial Wing had consented to be used in this manner. They had not expected the General to make the trip.

Moments later, the Queen came pelting into the meadow where the Formation would land, Briony loping along next to her, the rest of their Company running behind them.

The Queen pulled up, panting slightly, and spared a glance at the Wing spiraling downward to land. "Fah! She'll see me unprepared and scold later!" She shrugged into her dangling baldric. "Roblang, please, if you could…"

He helped her with the buckles and Queen Lucy slid her sword smartly into the back sheath. "At least you are wearing your mail shirt," he said, pulling the shoulder straight for her.

"And I forgot my coif, so I shall never get it off again!" The Queen winced as he worked to free her hair from the ensnaring links. "Lion's Mane, a trunk full of frippery and the one thing I do need is not there! Do you have a…"

He handed Queen Lucy a leather thong – Roblang always kept a supply handy when traveling with the Queens. She quickly pulled her hair back and lashed it down so it would not foul on her scabbard or be cut by her own sword. "I bring gowns and slippers to negotiate with a Beaver! And my mail to satisfy Edmund's paranoia that Lady Morgan would foil our guards and stab me in my sleep!"

They both snorted at this. The possibility of Lady Morgan hitting anything with a knife, save the ground when she dropped it, was inconceivable. Nor did it account for the frequent correspondence that had since blossomed between King Edmund and the Banker. Roblang had, as was proper when taking dictation, kept his silence on the subject matter to the extent he had been privy to it. He would share his observations, privately and orally only, with Queen Susan later. The Crows had been happy with the letters exchanged, for it gave them coveted chances to win Shinys from King Edmund. Lady Morgan had becoming stingier about the hair she doled out to the Crows flying messenger, thereby significantly increasing the demand for it.

Queen Lucy glanced behind them, frowning with dissatisfaction as their assembled Company formed up a ragged line. She nodded to him, "If you would, Master?"

"Company, FALL IN!" he bellowed. They were only ten, the usual Army unit balanced by teeth, claw, wing, arrow, and sword, plus the Guards and Sallowpad. Under his critical eye, which could see but half what the General did, the Company tightened up, hurriedly adjusting collars, slicking down fur, tweaking the scabbard or quiver so that it lay properly. Their scout, the Eagle, Raffe, flew neat ceremonial circles around the General's wing. Roblang held up an arm and Sallowpad flew to him then hopped to his shoulder.

"Where is Morgan?" the Queen asked, craning her neck about.

"Attending, but back a few paces," Sallowpad croaked.

That was fitting, Roblang thought, and nodded his approval to Sallowpad. Lady Morgan was not royalty, command, staff, or Army. While in Palace occasions, an adviser – if that was what she was – could be elevated further forward, that was not appropriate for this setting and with the General arriving.

"Lady Morgan is helping Jina out of the corset." Roblang saw Lady Morgan fling the contraption back into the wood. "Our Lady Hound would not want the General to see her in something so undignified, I think."

The General was not known for her sense of humor.

"Haizea and Liluye fly with the General," the Raven said, his eyes seeing what theirs could not.

The Queen was biting her lip. "I suppose she would not have expected us to fly her banner," she muttered.

Briony discretely shoved her charge in the leg. "Be at peace, my Queen. The General would not come in this manner if anything was amiss."

"I know, Friend," Queen Lucy said. "I wonder at why she comes at all." She glanced back again to where Lady Morgan stood, separate from the Company, with Jina, now corset free. "Ah, of course."

"Yes, I believe you are correct," Roblang whispered. The General was curious about Lady Morgan and wished to inspect the Human. _Without King Edmund about._

Sallowpad silently bobbed his head in agreement.

It was not that the General did not trust the judgment of her exceedingly competent staff, the Masters, the Rats and Crows, or the Monarchs of Narnia. She simply wished to form her own opinions, augmenting the advice of others with her own observation.

The backbeating of three powerful sets of Gryphon wings caused the grass of the meadow to flutter like a sea. The General set down first, landing at an easy canter, furling her massive chestnut wings. Her Wing-seconds, Haizea and Liluye, landed almost as smoothly in a precise, triangulated formation behind her.

The Crows that had flown with the Wing settled quietly in the trees and Trees.

There was a quiet flutter as the Gryphons settled their wings on their backs. They then stalked forward. Their clawed front talons sank slightly in the grass, back legs padded behind, Lion tails held high. On the General's scarlet collar, the studs of four golden lions rampant denoted her rank. Her seconds wore collars of green; the experienced Haizea had two lion studs, the younger Liluye only one, for all that she was the General's own daughter.

Queen Lucy stepped forward and saluted the General, fist over heart, the salute of the Order of the Lion. "Welcome General, Wing-Seconds. We are honored to see you."

The General lowered her head in a bow. "My Queen, the honor is ours." Raising her beak, she turned her head to the side and took in their assembly with one piercing look. Every member of the Company straightened. Even Briony stood a little taller and she had been out of the Army for nine years, ever since becoming Queen Lucy's Guard. Recognition of the General's command was something no member of the Army ever unlearned.

"Well done, Arms Master. But, I would have expected no less."

"Thank you, General," Roblang returned. He supposed she meant it as a compliment. If she had criticism, as the Queen had said, it would follow later in private.

"Many Crows fly with you, General," Sallowpad said.

"They bring the items Queen Lucy requested," the General said dryly.

The General and the Chief of the Narnian Murder had an unusual relationship – there was enormous respect and they were united in their devotion to Narnia and her Monarchs. Yet between them there was no warmth or even cordiality. Roblang had thought it had to do with the Monarchs to whom each most closely aligned. The General was closest in temperament and approach to the Narnia's Heart and Soul, the High King and Queen Lucy. Sallowpad related most easily to Narnia's Concert of Minds, King Edmund and Queen Susan. It was not a wholly fair comparison, for it implied limitations and distinctions among the Monarchs that did not in fact exist. The General and Sallowpad were simply very different Beasts, for all that they both flew.

"Thank you, General, for having everything carried safely," Queen Lucy said. "Arms Master and Sallowpad, please see to the final delivery."

Sallowpad launched from his shoulder, cawing orders to the roosting Crows. Roblang whistled between his teeth and the Crows took wing. They sailed down and deposited at his feet the frippery they had carried from Cair Paravel that Queen Lucy had asked her sister to provide – combs, a mirror, ribbons, a brush, and yes, bows. Judging from the tacky ornamentation and color, most of the items were things left behind by visitors to Cair Paravel, or possibly stolen from them by the Crows. With a hand signal, he sent Isoke, bounding off; the Satyr returned from camp with a basket to collect the items the Crows were dropping on to the grass.

Gryphons might consent, at their own volition, to carry a passenger. No one who valued his or her own limbs asked why the Gryphons had not carried the trinkets by which a Beaver would be bribed. Gryphons did not convey as a common, dumb ox or pack mule did. Yet Crows would gladly fetch and carry just for the sake of the adventure of it all, though they would hold out for a Shiny. This was probably (today) the reason for the slight chill between the General and Sallowpad.

Roblang noticed the General's far-seeing eye slide out over their Company to Lady Morgan standing at the rear.

"Liluye, you may release our passenger."

With a savage snap of her beak, the young Gryphon contemptuously tossed onto the grass a rough hewn box that had been hanging from her talons by sturdy leathers.

"You fuckwitted dickwad!" came the furious, high pitched voice from within. "What absolute gobshite!" A long string of obscenity followed as the box rolled to a stop in the grass.

A furiously spitting Otter surged out of the box, scattering sticks and binding. "An effing cage!" the Otter shrieked. "The arse-hole vulture put me in an effing cage!"

"You had the option of the dignity of a harness; you chose the cage, vermin!" Haizea snarled, for all her beak sounding more Lion than Eagle.

"Oi, piss off!"

"Silence, Weasel!" the General barked, her beak suddenly a hand's span from the Otter's face.

"I'm not in you bloody Army!" the Otter squeaked.

She raised a talon, sharp and glinting. "I could change that with a word, Otter. And then where would you be?"

The Otter gibbered and fell silent.

"Take your place next to Master Roblang," the General said.

Even if he was not in the Army, her authority was such that one obeyed. Meekly, the Otter shuffled closer, grumbling, eyes downcast. Only the High King had the same way of conveying a request in a manner so authoritative, it near compelled willing obedience. The High King had learned the skill of command from the General.

"Thank you, General and Seconds, for consenting to carry this passenger. Narnia thanks you for," Queen Lucy's eyes flitted downward to the sputtering Otter at their feet, "performance of so onerous a task."

"Onerous my arse," the Otter muttered.

The Wing Seconds bowed their acknowledgment.

"Master Roblang, there is no need to keep the Company on my account," the General said.

With the Queen nodding her assent, he called, "Fall out!" and a collectively held breath within the Company was released. The Company began to disperse, wandering back toward the camp.

"Again, thank you for coming, General," Queen Lucy said, with her more customary informality. "The need to move Beaver Jezebel is becoming urgent as the Grove will be sprouting new Dryads soon. We wish to avoid a confrontation and potentially even a gruesome error."

"Diplomatic of you to assume it would be error," the General said.

"King Edmund would say, and I would agree, that we must assume so until proven otherwise."

"Yes," the General agreed. "Though I doubt it was chance that Beaver Jezebel chose this pond that so happens to have such abundant Willows."

With another gesture, Isoke whisked the basket of ladies' tokens away. Queen Lucy would sort through it later and plot her final assault upon Jezebel's fortress.

"By Aslan's Grace, and your good assistance it shall be resolved tomorrow," the Queen said, in a firm voice that brooked no argument. In this, she commanded, not the General. "If you have no other pressing matters, we would be honored if you and your Wing accompanied us back to Cair Paravel."

"Thank you, my Queen, but I think my presence would make your return less comfortable and possibly even less efficient. There is one matter I wish to see to before I depart." Over her shoulder, she called, "Haizea! Liluye! See to your needs. We fly as soon as I am finished here."

"Oi!" the Otter suddenly shrieked with joy. "I'll be a piss up in a brewery! It's her! The orange lady!" He scampered forward and ran about Lady Morgan, snuffling and pawing at her legs in rude greeting.

Queen Lucy shook her head, laughing. "So it seems Morgan has a way with Crows _and_ Otters. Thank you again, General, for your accommodation in delivering this part of our battle plan."

The General twitched a fly away with a flick of her tail. "I understand the basics of your strategy from the Queen Susan. I will be curious to see if it is successful."

"The Otter component is the suggestion of Banker Morgan, who I shall make known to you."

Lady Morgan had eased her way into the group, Jina surreptitiously nudging her along.

"Hello," Lady Morgan mumbled with a bob that was sort of a bow, sort of a curtsey and had the effect of unbalancing her. Lucy quickly held out a steadying hand.

"Banker Morgan," the General replied, with a regal nod. She lowered her head, looking the Human over very carefully. "Walk with me. Alone." She glared down at the Otter who shrank back, muttering profanity under his breath.

Morgan shrugged. "Certainly. I've been expecting this."

"Have you?" the General asked. "Perhaps you will tell me why."

Lady Morgan fell in with the Gryphon and they set off across the field, Jina trailing behind.

Once they were out of earshot, Queen Lucy blew out a breath. "Morgan did not seem overly nervous."

"I believe it is Humans who unnerve Lady Morgan," Briony said, watching them go. "Lady Morgan is far more at ease with Talking Beasts."

Sallowpad flapped down and landed on the Queen's upraised arm.

"What do you think, Friend?" Queen Lucy asked the Raven.

The Raven cocked his head to the side. "I would like to be a Rat in the room to hear a discussion that interested the General enough to fly here herself and to bring an Otter in her Wing."

* * *

They were not gone very long, returning well before the noon hour. Roblang had everyone beginning the work of clearing the camp and packing. Having consumed supplies, they would be returning with less than they brought, yet it was always harder to get things back into where they belonged for the journey home. It was as if the detritus of their camp reproduced when they turned their backs and that dirty belongings took up more space than clean ones.

"Well, Morgan?" Lucy asked the Banker after they and the Company farewelled the Wing from the meadow. "How was your interview with the General?"

"Easier than the High King."

Belatedly, Lady Morgan realized her statement was too candid for politeness and a flush rose in her face. Jina sighed under breath, embarrassed on her charge's behalf.

The General and her flight faded into the sky and they all turned back to the camp.

"She thanked me," Lady Morgan blurted.

"Thanked you? Why?"

"She said Ha… King Edmund has not drilled so diligently in years."

"Of course," the Queen said, mouth twitching into a smile she suppressed. With the knowing glance in his direction, Roblang wondered how much Queen Lucy had intuited of the letters passing between her brother and Lady Morgan. Blandly, Queen Lucy commented, "Yes, I can see how that might be so for Edmund in your absence."

All activity had stopped as the Company quietly listened. Oblivious to their attentiveness, Lady Morgan shrugged and blithely went on. "The General said that she hoped there was no invasion, as King Edmund laid up your Sword Master during a training drill for the next ten-day."

The Queen's smile widened. Noting the number in their audience attending intently, snickering, and pretending to be occupied, she looked to him.

"Back to business, everyone!" Roblang barked.

The Company reluctantly dispersed each to his or her own job and Queen Lucy was able to continue her questioning. Roblang thought the Crows' wagering on the possible permutations of Lady Morgan's time with King Edmund was spreading into the ranks of the Army as well. If Lady Morgan was indeed indirectly responsible for a ten-day injury to the exactingly brutal Sword Master, Sir Leszi, the Banker would be hailed a conquering hero and awarded honorary rank. Which, come to think, was fitting victory indeed given how ineptly clumsy she was with any weapon save a quill.

Queen Lucy was evidently thinking the same thing given the effort it was taking to keep her from laughing aloud. "So, apart from Edmund injuring Sir Leszi, did the General say anything else? Did she move from the compliment to the threat?"

"She said that if I did ill to Narnia, she would rip out my liver and drop it and me into the sea."

Lady Morgan spoke so blandly, he and Queen Lucy both stared at her moment. Jina sighed again.

"Did this not concern you, Lady Morgan?" Briony finally said into the long silence.

Lady Morgan frowned, as if the thought had not occurred to her. "Well it does sound painful, but it didn't bother me. I mean, I've invested House of Linch funds in Narnia. You lose, I lose. I tried to explain that, but I'm not sure the General understood."

"Regardless, she would not really injure you, Morgan," the Queen said consolingly, putting a hand on the Banker's arm.

"She wouldn't?"

Lady Morgan looked positively downcast and even disgruntled. She threw up her hands. "This politeness is all fine and well, but really, aren't you taking it too far? It's good business if others think you'll aggressively defend yourselves. Deterrence you know."

Queen Lucy could no longer restrain herself. She burst out laughing and threw an arm over Lady Morgan's shoulder. "Come, Morgan. There is an Otter who very much wishes to see you again."

* * *

They were again, and for hopefully the last time, sitting by Jezebel's pond. Queen Lucy had flatly refused to don her gowns. She had wadded them up and thrown them all into her trunk. She was in her traveling garments, clothing more like what her brothers wore, but fitted to her.

The Queen did consent to a camp stool as makeshift throne; the banners to her right and left hung limply from their standards.

Queen Lucy shifted impatiently. "Briony," she finally asked, "what are they discussing?"

The Wolf pricked her ears and attended more closely to the intense, low discussion occurring a short distance away. "Apples and oranges, my Queen."

"Apples and oranges?" she repeated faintly.

"Yes," Briony replied. "Lady Morgan is arguing with the Otter about whether two apples would be equal to one orange if oranges are unavailable. Garbahn wants three apples; Lady Morgan will agree only to one."

"But they are apples!" the Queen gritted out through clenched teeth. "We would happily give Garbahn ten apples until the End of Time to get Jezebel out of her lodge! I knew I should have done this myself!"

"Not the point, Queen Lucy," Sallowpad piped in from his perch on the standard. He had been flying back and forth, surreptitiously observing the negotiation between Banker and Otter.

The Queen turned about. "The point being, Chief?" Her irritation was making her curt.

"The harder Lady Morgan pretends to bargain, the more Garbahn feels he has won." The Raven paused. "The Banker is very good at this game. And, as we discussed, if she fails, you become the fallback. If we use you in the first instance, there is no other option."

"Other than going to Peter or Susan, and undermining my own authority. Yes, yes, I know." She blew out an aggravated breath. "Thank you for that good counsel, Friend. I shall try to be patient."

"I believe they are ending," Briony broke in.

Indeed, it seemed that Human and Otter had come to an agreement; Lady Morgan was bending down to accept some sort of whiskered nose rub from Garbahn. The Otter in turn extended his paw and the Banker gravely shook it.

Lady Morgan rose up from her seat on the ground, absently brushing off the grass and flecks of mud.

"Well, at least Mrs. Furner will be cross at Morgan rather than me alone for the state of her clothing," the Queen murmured, sounding very pleased at the prospect of shared scolding.

"We've concluded our business," Lady Morgan said as they came forward, the Otter bounding ahead. "For the difficulty of the trip here to the pond, Garbahn will receive one orange or two apples every ten days for the next two months."

Queen Lucy glanced at Sallowpad, lips forming a tight, displeased line. Roblang too wondered why they had spent all this time negotiating over apples and oranges when nothing had been done about Jezebel.

From behind and above the Otter, Lady Morgan quickly put a finger to her lips and Sallowpad nodded.

"Those are very good terms for you, Otter," Sallowpad croaked.

"Sod off, they effing are. Bloody nightmare it was."

"Oh, Garbahn, do you see that lodge in the pond?" Lady Morgan pointed out the shambling heap of sticks behind them.

"That pile of shite? What about it?"

Lady Morgan crossed her arms over her front and stared at the lodge, frowning. "I have a wager with Sallowpad about it, that's all."

"So what's that to me?" the Otter said, scratching his ear. Rolling on the grass, he began biting on his tail with needle-like teeth.

"There is a Beaver in there," Lady Morgan said, sounding very unhappy about it. "I think Otters could drive her out. The Chief here," she tilted her head, "doesn't think the Otters can do it and I'll lose four oranges if he's right."

"Four oranges?" The Otter turned crafty and glared at Sallowpad. "Bloody Crow. You give the oranges to me, Lady, and I'll get the Beaver out for you."

Queen Lucy winked at Morgan and rose to the role beautifully. "That is extortion, Garbahn! We have a flock of Crows here. They shall do it and Lady Morgan can keep her oranges. I will not permit it!"

Lady Morgan made to sigh and argue. "But that's not the point! I think an Otter can drive the Beaver out and Sallowpad doesn't think it can be done."

"Oh, Otters might," Sallowpad said with perfect timing. "But they won't do it as well as my Crows and I'll get the oranges."

Lady Morgan scowled and rubbed the side of her face in serious thought. "Garbahn, what if I gave you two oranges if you do it, then the only who loses is the Chief here."

The Otter spit on to the ground. "Done."

Garbahn was turning toward the pond when Queen Lucy spoke up. "Otter, one more thing, if you will."

Brimming with insolence, Garbahn turned sullenly back around. "I'm not going in a sodding cage."

"No, nothing like that Friend." From her pocket, Queen Lucy removed a mirror and held it up to the light.

Garbahn stared at it, whiskers twitching. "Looks shiny like a fish, but doesn't smell like it."

"It is a plaything," the Queen explained. "You can see your face in it." Leaning forward, she handed the little mirror to the Otter. "When the Beaver sees it, she will want it very much. It will make her very angry that you have one and she does not."

The Otter snatched the mirror out of her hands, chirped maniacally and, spinning around, dove into the pond.

Days of dressing up, dressing down, negotiation and threat. In the end, it took one Otter bent on destruction and a mirror to drive the She-Beaver, panting and gasping, to her Queen's feet. They watched from the pond's edge as the Otter romped through the lodge, swearing with glee, ripping the shambling thing apart, and taunting the screeching Beaver, driven mad with envy for a mirror that the Otter only kept because Jezebel wanted it so badly. A shrewder principle of negotiation Roblang had never seen.

Jezebel was not so primped and preened now. In truth, she looked like a normal, albeit very unhappy, Beaver.

"I have mud on my beautiful fur!" Jezebel wailed.

To their credit, neither Queen Lucy nor Lady Morgan mentioned the mud and grass on their own garments.

"For the loss of your temporary home, I am sorry," Queen Lucy said, sounding both sympathetic and firm. "However, you knew we could not permit you to continue to threaten the Willows."

With truly excessive melodrama given the hovel she had been forced to abandon, Jezebel cried, "I am ruined!"

Underscoring the real problem, she then began nosing about her fur, combing through it, flicking away the dirt, far more concerned with appearances than the problem at hand. Beavers were clean animals, but building lodges and dams was hard, dirty work and never had Roblang seen a creature so ill-suited to the task nature required of her.

Queen Lucy opened the basket she had on her lap, and with the gravity of one displaying crown jewels, solemnly presented Jezebel with a comb.

The Beaver gasped in delighted astonishment, wailing forgotten. "Oh! Queen Lucy! It is _beautiful_! Thank you! I take back all the hateful things I said about you!"

Briony growled. Lady Morgan coughed.

"You are welcome, Jezebel."

The Beaver grasped the comb and leaned forward, anxiously seeking another look inside the heavenly basket. The Queen held it open and Jezebel cooed at the bits of ribbon, brushes, and ornaments.

"So many beautiful things, Queen Lucy!"

Queen Lucy firmly put the lid back on the basket. "These are just some traveling things. The finest ones are all at Cair Paravel, of course."

With a final, satisfied Otter squeal and a creaking of shaky timbers, the last of the lodge collapsed with a crack and splash. Debris and sticks floated desolately on the pond's surface.

"Didn't think I could do it you flying dickwad!" the Otter cried, presumably at Sallowpad.

Jezebel looked out over the pond. "The Otter had a mirror," she said bitterly. "He teased me and would not share it. Do you have one in the basket?"

"Unfortunately, Jezebel, all my fine mirrors are at Cair Paravel. Mrs. Furner has ladies in waiting who keep mirrors and bows for me."

"Ladies in waiting?" Jezebel asked, eyes gleaming. Her interest was so keen she stopped her incessant grooming with her new comb to listen carefully to her Queen. "What do they do?"

"Well, the Queen Susan and I have our ladies in waiting who assist us with our hair, bows, mirrors, and such. We have others who assist our guests. The Princesses and fine ladies who visit Cair Paravel always require many ladies in waiting."

"Princesses?" Jezebel gasped. Why she seemed more in awe of princesses than the Queen before her was a mystery Roblang could not begin to unravel. "They must be very fine!"

"They are Jezebel. Cair Paravel attracts the finest, most beautiful Princesses in all the known lands."

Lady Morgan began coughing again, choking on laughter. Jina curled a lip and nudged her charge to keep silent.

"I should like to see them," Jezebel said, surprising no one.

Queen Lucy paused a very long time, appearing thoughtful and deliberative. "As it happens, Jezebel, we have need at Cair Paravel for a lady in waiting for our visiting Princesses."

Jezebel squealed. "Do they wear bows? Do the Princesses wear bows?"

"Oh yes," the Queen assured the Beaver. "There wear lovely bows, especially pink ones. We have bows, and combs and mirrors so that you may practice placing them just so. If you become very skilled at this, I believe that you and our Princess guests will get on very, very well."

It was necessary to cease at this point, for Lady Morgan was choking so profoundly, Roblang was obliged to deliver several swift slaps to her back.

* * *

"Thank Aslan." Jalur muttered it low enough so that only Lambert would hear.

"Indeed," the He-Wolf agreed, as they observed Queen Lucy's caravan file through the gates into the Palace grounds. "King Edmund made Cook cry yesterday."

"I know," Jalur responded. "Your Queen has lectured me, as if it is my fault Cook is serving stewed pig intestine tonight."

The whole of the Castle grounds reeked of it. It was very objectionable to the Humans. The Canines and Dwarfs, however, adored the offal, though Jalur did prefer his raw.

Lambert licked his jaws in anticipation and stood, wagging his tail in greeting. "One's Feast is another's Famine." With that, the Wolf leaped down from the steps to re-join his mate, Briony, and the thronging welcome as Cair Paravel turned out to welcome Queen Lucy back from the Telmar.

Jalur yawned, still keeping an eye on King Edmund as a Guard should do. The King was brimming with so much twisting tension he had infuriated or offended everyone in the Palace. Jalur was weary to death of the King's relentless drilling in the Training Yard. King Edmund had been so furious during the drills and skirmishes, he had gotten the better of Sir Leszi. The Sword Master was now out for at least a ten day with a wrenched arm and shoulder and a long, shallow slash to the upper leg.

King Edmund's endless swimming in the Otter Pond, and at all hours, had become tedious as well. Jalur enjoyed water very much, but his fur was now never dry and Mr. Hoberry had taken to pointedly cleaning the damp marks he was leaving on the carpets as soon as Jalur vacated the spot.

The Cair Paravel staff was nearly desperate. In the housekeeping storeroom, Mr. Hoberry had added Lady Morgan to the daily schedule and had been counting down the days to her return. Mrs. Furner had banished the Anteater from King Edmund's rooms, and seen to the cleaning and ant removal herself. The Crows were wagering how long Lady Morgan would stay and there was a burgeoning trade in hairs and threads that purported to be from the Banker, but in fact were not hers. The Otters had taken to badgering King Edmund about when "the orange lady" would return and the Physician wanted to share his new monograph, _Rabbits and Rodents for Dummies_.

So it was with a collectively held breath that everyone who had endured King Edmund's moods, wrath, and irascibility watched anxiously for the arrival of their much needed reprieve. Lady Morgan slid inelegantly off her passive, dumb mare. She thudded to the ground and was steadied by a Dryad groom.

To Jalur's eye, neither King Edmund nor Lady Morgan noticed how everyone else around them parted, giving the King a very wide berth. Queen Susan whispered something to the Queen Lucy. Though there was too much noise for him to hear what the Queens exchanged, it was not difficult to guess the content. The Queen Lucy laughed, waved in Lady Morgan's direction, and looping arms with Queen Susan, joined her sister in climbing the Palace steps.

As the Queens passed him, Queen Susan, paused in their climb and bent towards him. "Jalur, for the sake of all of us, please see that my brother and Lady Morgan retire somewhere privately as quickly as possible. None of us wishes to see him again until supper, which _he is required to attend_ as it _his_ fault we are eating stewed pig offal."

"I understand, Queen Susan."

The Queens and the rest of the crowd milled up into the Castle for what Jalur knew was to be a very hearty tea, courtesy of Mr. Hoberry and Mrs. Furner, though he understood the Dwarfess, true to her kind, was fond of stewed intestines. As Lambert would say, a hearty tea now meant more offal later for those who enjoyed it.

_Oh for the sake of the Lion!_

All this agony –_ days_ of misery – and the two of them were _just standing_ there?

Jina looked up at him, long suffering etched in her Hound countenance. She was no longer wearing the corset, which really was as ridiculous on a Hound as it was on a Human, in Jalur's opinion. Jalur could sense the Hound's weary resignation from this distance. He felt a momentary stab of sympathy. Surely guarding Lady Morgan would be a trying experience for the socially astute Hound.

Time to take matters into his own paws. Jalur jumped down to the courtyard from the marbled steps.

_Taxes_. They were talking about taxes on _fish_.

Jalur had no compunction whatsoever about interrupting. He had endured enough. "Welcome back, Lady Morgan."

"Thank you, Sir Jalur. Has …" she paused, painfully searching for conversational words.

"Has all been well here?" he prompted.

"Yes," she said. "Has all been well here?"

"No," Jalur stated flatly. "It has been horrible. We are very glad to see you, for King Edmund has been ghastly during your absence."

"That is enough, Jalur!" the King snapped.

Really, this merited no response at all. Jalur thought he was being quite polite, particularly given that he had borne the brunt of the King's ill temper. Lady Morgan's presence had been grievously missed and she should know of it. "And your journey, Lady Morgan, Lady Hound?"

That he was initiating conversation was pathetic. He would make King Edmund go with him to the Otter Pond later. Perhaps Lady Morgan would come as well. They could take their mating out of doors in proper Narnian fashion and Jalur could enjoy a swim.

When Lady Morgan stammered and hedged, Jina stepped in conversationally.

"We have had a good and productive journey. Our Valiant Queen has solved Jezebel's problem in a way that is fairer than she deserves. It may be a little painful for Mrs. Furner and Mr. Hoberry, but hopefully Jezebel will make a useful contribution with very little inconvenience to anyone else."

"It's not as if any proper Narnian would want to wait upon the Princesses who come here," Lady Morgan said. Even to Jalur, that seemed rather blunt.

"If she does so, it will be less a burden for the rest of us," Jina agreed. "As for the rest, it has been agreeable. These last days, Lady Morgan has, been very eager to return to Cair Paravel and has encouraged us at all possible speed."

"Jina!" Lady Morgan muttered.

Jina looked at Morgan. Morgan stared at the ground. Jalur looked at King Edmund. King Edmund stared at the ground.

The Hound sighed, lips softly moving, and her brows drew together in a pained expression. The billowing tension between the two Humans was straining Jalur's last danced upon, poor nerve, and he did not have the sensitivity of the Hound. He caught Jina's eye, and on one, two, three…

So coordinated, he shoved King Edmund in the back toward Lady Morgan as Jina similarly nudged the Lady toward the King.

"Oof!" "Sorry!" "Jalur!"

In the flailing and groping that followed, Jalur issued his edict. "You both must accompany us to King Edmund's rooms. Upon completion of the required preliminaries, you shall begin mating. There should be sufficient time for two mating actions, until dinner, which you are required to attend."

"Only two?" Jina asked conversationally. "I should think it would be a considerable number more given Lady Morgan's conduct the last few days."

"I was speaking of King Edmund, not Lady Morgan, and of course the two are different," Jalur retorted, irritated. Frostily, he added, "I may not be a certified reproductive specialist as you are, Lady Hound, but I am not ignorant, either. I have engaged in mating myself before, have overseen Human mating activity, and have endured the Physician's revised presentations."

"Have you seen his models?" Jina asked. "I have not yet had the opportunity."

"Yes. They appear accurate, if oversized." The Physician's zeal for the study of Primate mating activity was often mocked, yet Jalur had found the Porcupine actually understood it all better than one might expect. While the prickly Rodent was peculiar, he was not to blame here. The behaviors he studied were even odder and more inscrutable.

Lady Morgan and King Edmund were now at least standing a little closer together. They were both red with embarrassment and once again Jalur wished Humans were more like other Mammals. Or, more accurately, Humans were like other Mammals, it was simply that the senses of one Human were too poor to perceive what the other so obviously desired. How the species ever managed to reproduce at all was quite the mystery given their deplorable communication. The irony that he, a solitary male Cat, was criticizing the poor communication inherent in Human courtship rituals was like a fish bone he could choke on rather than bite through.

Jalur walked around them and gave Lady Morgan a forceful, stumbling shove forward into King Edmund. "We will go now and you both shall begin mating. If you fail to do so, I am not certain I shall be able to prevent the attempts upon King Edmund's life that will surely follow."

Lady Morgan laughed.

Jalur glared. "This is not a laughing matter."

They were at least moving forward. Now to just keep them going up the stairs and to King Edmund's rooms and they could all begin to relax. Jalur desperately desired a nap. These last days had been very trying.

Jina, however, interrupted. "Perhaps Lady Morgan would prefer to go to her own rooms first, to change her clothing and wash off the dirt of the road before they begin mating?"

"I do not see why," Jalur countered. "She will be removing her clothes as soon as she is in King Edmund's rooms regardless. If she needs anything else, the whole of Cair Paravel would obligingly bring it to King Edmund's rooms to avoid one more moment of his temper."

King Edmund made a strangled protesting sound.

Lady Morgan snorted.

"You both are being very stupid about this, even for Humans. Are there any questions?" Not hearing anything but stammering which did not count as a "question," Jalur pushed his King and the Banker up the Palace steps. "If you do not both accompany me now, I promise there will be blood and screaming."

* * *

Jalur was a mature Tiger and experienced Guard, having served King Edmund for three years. Human bonding and mating situations were no longer as bizarre as they had first been. He had been through the Physician's briefing, but declined to enlighten the Physician on his own observations. He had done his duty in informing Fooh and Beehn, the High King's young Cheetah Guard, of the basics and referred them to their own mother, Dalia, for more information. While others purported to know more, Jalur had learned that no Beast or Being in all of Narnia was more skilled at manipulation of Human courtship rituals than Dalia. Assuring an orderly succession through a Human line remained an urgent matter for the Talking Beasts and now that Dalia no longer served as the High King's Guard, the Cheetah female had assumed responsibility for coordinating that subtle effort.

Birds usually performed their courtship rituals in daylight because there was an important visual and flight component – nocturnal Birds, such as Owls, were an exception, of course. As scent played so important a role for Mammals, courtship and mating occurred day and night, though those who were trying to sleep would get annoyed if the Mammal couple were too noisy. Hampered as they were by their poor sense of smell, Jalur would have thought Humans would be more like Birds and perform the bulk of their mating activities in daylight where they could perceive one another's visual cues. He had been surprised to learn that apparently Humans often preferred to blunder about in the dark. This explained quite a lot about the whole mess they made of it.

There were, of course, exceptions such as today with Lady Morgan's much anticipated return. Jalur was prepared to enjoy the afternoon – he could doze in the hall of the Monarchs' private wing while King Edmund and Lady Morgan attended to their mating. Regrettably, they were being very noisy and it was disturbing his much needed rest.

"Whereas Party of the First Part desires to amend hereto contract previously entered into and attached hereto as Exhibit A and Party of the Second Part had agreed to said amendments, now therefore it is agreed as follows.

Terms and Conditions…"

"Harold?"

"Yes?"

"I feel we are beginning this on an undesirably unequal footing. Please remove your shirt."

"The point is well taken. Would the Party of the First Part like to assist the Party of the Second Part?"

"No. The Party of the First Part would like to watch the Party of the Second Part remove his shirt by himself."

"I shall require adequate compensation for doing so, Banker Morgan."

"Might we defer that compensation?"

"No. The Party of the Second Part demands some token but immediate performance by the Party of the First Part."

"Before or after the Party of the Second Part removes his shirt unaided by the Party of the First Part?"

"Before. I would not like us to immediately devolve into punitive actions."

"It's still too early for punitive actions. Shall performance be from one of the enumerated options in Exhibit B, or should it be improvised?"

"How did you know of Exhibit B? We have not yet even been through the Terms and Conditions."

"I read it while you were unlacing my gown."

"The Party of the Second Part demands improvisation."

"Very well."

Things were a bit quieter then.

_Clothing removal_. It was bizarre, truly. It seemed that sometimes it was a very perfunctory thing, to be removed at once. Other times, it was a painfully long and drawn out process, though for what purpose, Jalur could not imagine. _Just get on with it, would you_, he grumbled. Jalur found a patch of sunlight at the hallway's end and stretched out. Some time passed.

"Is the Party of the Second Part satisfied with that improvised performance?"

There were some of those tedious, inarticulate sounds Humans made that always sounded alarming. The first time he had heard noise of that nature Jalur had rushed into the room, certain that torture was being done to King Edmund. He had since learned to be more careful.

"But we've not yet even made it through the Terms and Conditions! The Party of the First Part demands reciprocal performance, so off with the shirt, Party of the Second Part!"

_Ahhh_, Jalur thought, yawning. _Finally_. The clothing removal. It should be quieter now. Then…

"More slowly, Harold."

A few minutes of contented silence, then the blasted talking started again.

"Hullo? Party of the First Part? Are you well? You seem flustered."

"Fine," squeaked the Party of the First Part. "I'm fine. But…"

"Yes? … What was that, Party of the First Part? I did not hear you adequately through all that sighing."

There were some murmurings of the sort that were more normal of these outings. Regrettably, as the Just King and Lady Morgan were in no way normal, they did not continue.

"Oh, I see. The Party of the First Part does not wish for Party of the Second Part to stop with merely his shirt?"

"Yes," the Party of the First Part said faintly.

"Yes you wish me to remove more clothing, or yes you wish me to stop? The Party of the First Part needs to make her desires known with greater specificity than mumbling with inarticulate longing."

"That's quite enough, Harold!" shouted the Party of the First Part. "I'm performing Item 12(b)(iv) from Exhibit B on you right now and see how you like that!"

* * *

_**Subject: Security Briefing on Associate Director Morgan, House of Linch, Narrowhaven, Lone Islands**_

**Report of Sallowpad, Chief of the Narnia Murder and Lady Willa, Head of the Narnia Mischief, Narnian Intelligence Service, as dictated to Queen Susan the Gentle.**

Based upon information received from King Edmund, we have investigated, with the assistance of Queen Susan, reports of Banker Morgan's involvement in the Galman Winemaker Guild boycott and the dispute between Terebinthia and the Zalindreh Silk Merchants. We learned from the Galman Master Winemaker that during the negotiations for the funding of a proposed vineyard expansion, it was reported that a Lone Island banker had informed the underwriter for the House of Sterns banking syndicate that he was an idiot who could not add a child's sum on counting beads and that to propose the terms he had meant he was either corrupt or stupid. Though subsequent events revealed that the underwriter was in fact being bribed by a rival syndicate, the damage had been done and his syndicates (both the one for whom he worked and the one who was bribing him) retaliated against the Winemakers Guild.

The circumstances were apparently similar in Zalindreh with a banker from the House of Linch conducting an audit and uncovering a complex scheme in which early Terebinthian investors in the silk merchants were paid off with sums skimmed from deposits made by later investors. It was a so-called pyramid scheme that provided huge profits to early investors and certain loss for later investors. While it was undeniably corrupt, the scheme had made a few very rich, very quickly, and those who lost believed that they too would have had the astounding returns, eventually, had the scheme been allowed to continue. While the discontinuation was necessary, and the collapse inevitable, both were highly controversial and sudden, with significant loss to Terebinthian investors and blame falling upon the House of Linch banker, and not the Zalindreh silk merchants where it belonged.

We believe Banker Morgan was behind both ill events – and draw the following conclusion. She possesses a keen financial mind. She appears to be ethical in her dealings with her clients and will zealously defend their interests. In a silent and advisory role, she provides an expertise and sophistication not present in Narnia. However, she should not represent Narnia to outside interests and must not be perceived by foreign entities as acting on Narnia's behalf. She will offend and may make hasty accusations that while possibly (or even probably) true can be very difficult to prove and even more difficult to remedy. She could, unwittingly, do great damage.

**Report of Lady Jina, Lead Hound Bitch, Palace Pack and Arms Master Roblang **

Over the course of a journey to the Telmar basin, Lady Jina and I have observed Lady Morgan closely. We come to several conclusions. First, though she has no apparently visual impairment or infirmity, she is very clumsy. Her statement that she does not dance is in fact gross understatement. She cannot dance, nor yield a weapon, nor manipulate any tool. Her hand is sure with numbers and tables, and her ability to calculate sums, distances, and measurements extraordinary. Yet, her hand at letters is poor, sloppy, and painstakingly rendered, reflecting not a lack of intellect, but some fundamental incapability. As with many Talking Beasts, she dictates text more effectively than writing.

The awkwardness translates to speech as well. She is not conversational in the manner of the Monarchs, a Canine, herd Beast, or other social Beast. As with a Feline, Bear, or other solitary Beast, she responds most comfortably to direct questions. Silence does not denote absence of thought. To the contrary, she is always thinking and observing, and will share those thoughts and observations at inappropriate times.

Several Felines and Canines reported being at ease with her from the outset, though not certain how to explain why this was so. After observing her, Lady Jina and I concluded that unlike other Humans, she does not meet the eye of the being with whom she communicates. Making eye contact is a common Human trait, but one that is uncomfortable for most Beasts who perceive it as a challenge for dominance. Lady Morgan does not meet the eye. She looks beyond you, over your head or shoulder, askance. For Narnians (Human and otherwise), who are accustomed to interacting with others who do not make eye contact, this is unconcerning. Indeed, Queen Lucy observed that she responded automatically, easily avoiding eye contact and not noticing its absence until Jina and I discussed it with her. Queen Lucy found that communication with Lady Morgan was like interacting with a Great Cat or Bear. This likely explains why Beasts found her more comfortable. By coincidence, she mimics many familiar behaviors that for Beasts are natural, but that are highly unusual for non-Narnian Humans.

As with Beasts who have been removed from the influence of one or both parents too soon. Lady Morgan exhibits some of the same inability to react appropriately to social signals. The lack of eye contact is one example. She does not seem to understand facial expressions in Humans and Near Humans well. It is possible that she might notice other communicative means common in Beasts, such as body posture, tail carriage, ears, and rising hair. Further observation is required.

With certain conditions, we conclude that these behaviors pose no threat to Narnia. Beasts in her company perceive these issues readily and it is not concerning to them. However, during her stay in Narnia, care must be taken to assure that she does not offend other Humans. Most especially, great care must be taken with any visiting dignitaries and delegations. Further, we do not recommend that she be retained to or be permitted to speak on behalf of Narnia beyond our borders. Further, we recommend that she be accompanied by a well-socialized Beast who will assist her in reading the social signals, particularly in Humans, that Lady Morgan does not see. Pending approval of Queen Susan, Lady Jina has offered to fill the role.

**

* * *

**

This marks the first appearance of the General, a character developed with the assistance of comments to my LJ from **Autumnia, Metonomia, Miniver, Min, Ilysia**, **SailorSol**, and others. Gryphons are part Eagle, part Lion. Interestingly, raptors such as eagles are sexually dimorphic, with the female often a third larger in size than the males, which presents interesting possibilities for development. I'm looking forward to working with her more.

Thanks so much to those who reviewed the Chapter 2 Tax Special a few days ago.


	4. Chapter 4  Body Count

**Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance**  
**Chapter 4, Body Count – What Edmund did over his summer holiday. In which inventory, bodies, and freckles are counted.**

With special thanks to Autumnia who inspired the idea of "Harold and Morgan take a census." Some of the text of the census part of the chapter is taken in whole or in part from her comment fic on my Live Journal.

Apologies to those who have already seen about half of this on my Live Journal.

_**Rated T.**_

* * *

A Seven Isles merchant ship put to port at Cair Paravel. Susan commandeered them all and so for a ten-day, it was bustling excitement to see what had arrived, inspect it, haggle over it, and then off load the goods to be purchased and load the Narnian goods to be sold. They tended to import those things that were less common, difficult to grow in their northern climate, or harder to create when so many of one's citizens did not have hands. So, from the south and the eastern islands came the spices and woven cloth, coffee and tea, fuel and cooking oils, glassware and medicinals. Conversely, there was a high demand for Narnian-made tools and weapons, distilled and brewed liquors, leather and hides, wool, decorative arts, and such timber as the Dryads would chose to harvest periodically in their management of the woods under their care.

With the ship's arrival, Morgan insisted, a bit imperiously, that she could have no official role in the purchases and sales, as if assuming they would be clamoring for her advice. This mystified Edmund because she had been guarded, but helpful, on other matters. He and Susan speculated that it might be because there were outsiders involved and she wanted to avoid conveying the impression to others that she represented Narnia in some official capacity. Sallowpad speculated that her House of Linch might have Seven Isles merchant interests and Morgan wanted to avoid taking actions that could injure them.

Now, the Narnians certainly were not novices at trade – they had managed well for the last ten years. They always had the Canines, Rats and Mice involved in the inspection and Crows were savvy negotiators. However, it also was apparent that Morgan's understanding was broad and deep and bespoke a daily lifetime of trade, and little else. Susan, ever quick to perceive an advantage and having no qualms at all about using what fortune and Aslan sent, cajoled Morgan into an "unofficial," advisory capacity. In truth, for all her protestations, it would have been easier pulling a Hound from a scent or Jezebel the Beaver from a basket of frippery than to keep Morgan away from the _Trade Winds_ and her cargo.

So, Susan put Morgan to work _unofficially_. The Banker reviewed the marks and tags on the cargo for authenticity, analyzed the suppliers, searched out for merchant tricks like burying inferior goods under higher quality ones, and calculated how much retained moisture increased weight and volume of goods sold by those parameters to avoid overpayment.

On the export side, he and Susan drilled Morgan for her very current information on which markets most wanted Narnian goods, what those markets would pay for them, and especially critically, how much the ship's costs were to get to those markets. The captain was thoroughly taken aback when Susan showed an alarming familiarity with his expected profits and drove a harder and far more informed bargain than he had anticipated.

After the haggling, Susan confessed quietly, "I feel the Captain respects us more, and for reasons other than guards with teeth and claws. We were not doing anything incorrectly before, but I feel we are more effective now." It would become a repeating pattern when Morgan was involved in their commercial affairs.

With the ship, a trunk had arrived for Morgan; one from her, destined for her House in Narrowhaven, Lone Islands, would sail with the ship. The ship would also take to Narrowhaven three Narnian spies as stowaways.

The Rats were sitting on Edmund's desk in the Tower Library, staring at him, whiskers quivering with excitement. It was quite the promotion for the youngest of them, Teddy. He was a young Buck, but had acquitted himself very well with his trailing of Morgan, and Willa deemed him ready. After some discussion, they all agreed that it made sense for Willa to also go. Edmund was loathe to see the Chief of the Narnian Mischief absent for so long. However, save Sallowpad, Willa was the most experienced spy of the Intelligence Service and this assignment required judgment.

"So, concentrate on the Houses of Sterns and Stanleh?" Keme asked, reviewing their orders one final time. The Rat Doe was a seasoned spy who had already worked under Willa in Galma and Terebinthia. Edmund, Willa, and Sallowpad had chosen her because Keme knew the business of seaports and ocean going journeys.

"Yes," Sallowpad repeated from his perch behind Edmund's chair with an excited bob of his head.

"Stanleh and Sterns are not friendly to Narnia." Morgan banged her hand on the desk so hard she nearly sent it and the Rats upon it toppling over. "They're as crooked as a dog's hind leg."

That Jina did not voice a complaint at the epithet, and only sighed her discontent, was a testament to how familiar the Hound had become with Morgan.

Jalur, encamped in his favorite sunny spot on the Library floor, was more forthcoming. Demonstrating his own ease and forthright willingness to reprimand the Banker, he growled. The Tiger was correcting Morgan nearly as often as he chided Edmund. It had been refreshing, actually. It seemed there was only a certain allotment of management of which Jalur was capable before he gave up and stretched out for a nap. With the two of them to share, Edmund was enduring far less totally unjustified critique from his Royal Guard.

Morgan turned her head to the complaining Tiger. "What?"

"Perhaps you meant to say that Sterns and Stanleh are as crooked as a Lone Island Banker?" Edmund injected to avoid having to apologize for his Guard's poor manners.

"We are not all thieves!" Morgan responded heatedly.

"Then be more cautious with your expressions when they implicate Good Beasts."

"Sorry, Jina," Morgan muttered.

"Sterns and Stanleh, but not the House of Meryl!" Teddy squeaked, bringing them back to the mission. He had been working hard to keep up with the more experienced Rats and had become the researcher of the team.

"Don't bother with Meryl," Morgan replied dismissively. "Pay attention to who Sterns and Stanleh deal with. It's not just the harbourmasters. Look for where their money comes from, and even more important, who they are lending it to. Follow the money and there's a lot to follow."

Willa and Keme looked to him and Edmund confirmed Morgan's analysis with a discreet nod. They had not phrased the mission in those terms before, but it was sound. From what he knew already, the House of Meryl focused mostly upon management of individual wealth. Stanleh and Sterns both, apparently, supported positions hostile to Narnia, which meant funding those who opposed Narnia politically, militarily, or in trade. A list of the entities Stanleh and Sterns invested in and lent money to would make very provocative reading.

The Linch, Morgan's own House, was a separate problem. Edmund had decided that sending a team to focus upon Stanleh and Sterns was a sensible first step. Willa and Sallowpad were cautious in relying over much on Morgan. Where Sterns and Stanleh were concerned, Morgan had shown herself willing to push the boundaries of her "unofficial" involvement. Willa and Sallowpad thought the reason lay in Morgan's personal grudges against those competing Houses. Whether this bias actually coloured her "unofficial" recommendations was not as clear.

"We'll send our reports through the Crows," Willa said. "But the distance being what it is, you may just have to wait until we get back. Look for us at the first snowfall, before the winter storms lock us in there."

Again Edmund nodded to Willa. He and the Rat had already consulted, at length, and without Morgan present. The Head of the Mischief knew her business and understood the mission.

"We'd best sneak aboard," Keme said. "The _Trade Winds_ will sail with the tide."

"Queen Susan will be diverting the Captain by arguing with him over the final disposition of the Narnian cargo. Do you need a further distraction?" Edmund asked. "We could send the Crows."

"We'll be fine," Willa said, speaking for them all. Teddy twitched a little nervously. "Keme and I were both all over her when we were inspecting the stores. We have our hideaway ready and Queen Susan has situated a barrel with our food and water for the journey."

"Harah and Kangee will watch you board," Sallowpad said. "If there's a problem, they'll raise a fuss."

"And might do so regardless," Edmund said. He rose from his seat, crossed to the window, and pushed it open. He gestured to his Chief of the Murder. Sallowpad launched from the chair and flew out to round up the "distraction." From the window, Edmund could see Susan and Lambert already making their way from the Palace gardens to the docked ship. It was time.

Turning back, Edmund saluted his assembled Mischief, two fingers to his temple. "Aslan's blessings upon you, Friends. Narnia thanks you. As do I."

Morgan gravely shook the paws of the three Rats.

"To the laundry chute!" Teddy cried with youthful exuberance. He scampered down the table, over Jalur's back, and out the door, Keme on his tail.

Willa returned the salute. "Good bye, my King. We'll do well. Look for us after the first frost."

With a heavy heart, Edmund watched his valued advisor and friend scurry away after her lieutenants. _Aslan watch and guide you._

Edmund sank into his chair, feeling the nagging uncertainty of hindsight. They had Crows already in place and one Human agent, recruited several years ago, monitored the comings and goings at the port of Narrowhaven. But, the Rats would have no other support on the ground. If something went wrong, they were a month away from help.

He was still staring blankly at subchapter H of chapter 3, computation of tax for financial institutions, when paper began moving around his desk. As there was only being in the Tower Library capable of such manipulation, he did not even need to look up.

"Morgan, may we discuss your census some other time than right now?"

"Of course, Harold," she began, so brightly it made his jaw clench. "But I just wanted to show you my idea for how to …"

He held up a hand, wishing that Morgan would just _be quiet_ and leave him alone.

_Praise Aslan_, Jina came to his rescue with a firm head butt to Morgan's side just as she was beginning, oblivious as always, to unfurl a map of Narnia.

"Oh! Yes, Jina?"

"Lady Morgan, at this moment I believe King Edmund is too concerned for the safety of three loyal subjects to be interested in the census."

"Oh." Morgan started in his direction. "Are you worried about them, Harold?"

"Yes, of course I am," he snapped. Did he always have to explain things to her? "They might seem just like Rats to you, but they are valued Narnians who are going very far away and will be completely on their own, for a long time."

"I know perfectly well they are not _just rats_," she retorted. "Keme has spent more time in ports than you have. Teddy is a natural sneak. Willa's favorite pastime is counting bodies on battlefields. You're being irrational. This is difficult, not dangerous!"

Hi anxiety threatened to spill over to true anger; Jalur's loud growl and Jina's softer one both interrupted the tirade forming on his lips.

"What _now_, Jalur?" he bit out. Edmund would rebuke his Guard first, and then his lover after that.

"This is the burden of command, my King. Please remember that it often does not rest easily with you at first."

_Oh._ Edmund passed a hand over his face with the Tiger's familiar reminder and needed remonstrance. _Of course._ With a deep breath, and then another, he let go of the anger. "Thank you, Friend. You are right." He let out another weary breath that turned into a reproachful sigh. "All this time and I still am not easy sending others to do what I am not."

These things always sat more comfortably on Peter's shoulders than on his own.

"Lady Morgan?" Jina speaking drew his attention from the pain threatening to pinch between his eyes. "Please. _Think_."

A heavy silence passed.

"I'm sorry, Harold," Morgan finally muttered, staring down at the floor. "You were looking for assurance, not an argument. I'm terrible at delegating, too."

If Jina could have thrown her paws up in despair, the socially adept Hound would have done so. Jina's lips fluttered with a sigh of her own and her next nudge was so firm, Morgan bumped into the desk; her Narnia map and census spreadsheet slid out of her hands to the floor.

Morgan stumbled forward, abandoning her papers, and wrapped her arms around him instead. It was awkward, sitting while she stood, but he eased into and returned her tightening embrace. His imagination immediately offered suggestions for resolving this discomfort by clearing the desk of the Tax Code or the floor of her census charts and maps.

"Maybe, next time, say less and show more?" Edmund suggested, enjoying how her clever hands were sliding down his tensed back.

"You want me to bare skin every time we disagree?"

His imagination immediately began cataloging future arguments to concoct. His intellect noted how pleasant it was to have her physical reassurance – it was very different in sensation and effect from Peter's chest clearing back slaps and the sisterly hugs.

"While I relish the prospect of making up after an argument, I meant that showing this sort of affection at the outset might prevent the disagreement in the first instance."

"I'll remember that."

His imagination decided that while hugs were acceptable as a preliminary step, the heat of argument and bared flesh were preferred. His intellect prevailed in this round, however. For the moment, her hands soothed and it was very welcome. Edmund rested his cheek at her waist.

"No one will expect Talking Beasts. They are all too smart for rat traps," Morgan said softly. "And, I told Willa to go to my House, if anything happens. Which it won't."

Edmund looked up at her, startled at her initiative. "Truly?"

"All they have to do is say my name. Linch will protect them because Willa knows me."

"And no others in Narrowhaven would cross Linch – not openly."

This was too close to the lines she drew. Morgan would not answer directly. She nodded a little.

He grasped her hand and kissed it. His imagination wanted to continue on up her bare arm to the even more enticing, softer parts of Morgan's body that resulted in amazing sounds when he touched them. Every other part of him was humbly grateful for her generous foresight. "Thank you."

"Thank you for not asking me to do it," Morgan said. "If you had, I would have had to say no."

He had assumed as much. "I did not think in our present circumstances that you had the authority to commit your House to sheltering Narnians."

"Not when I'm here unofficially. In this way it's a favor among friends, just between me and Willa."

And so Morgan, a non-Narnian, claimed a Rat as her own friend. Edmund heard the approving thump of Jina's tail against the floor.

"That was kindly done, Lady Morgan," Jalur added.

"Praise from Jalur is rare indeed," Edmund said, smiling at the Tiger.

"It is," Jalur agreed.

And now he could and should listen to what Morgan had wanted to tell him. Edmund loosened his hold and retrieved her papers from the floor. "So, what did you wish to discuss about a census?"

She looked at him through a calculating squint and Edmund had the sensation of falling under the piercing scrutiny of the Evil Banker stare – had she been in Narnia officially. In fact, for his purposes, she was neither a Banker nor a Lady, both of which had their distinct advantages.

"You are just trying to be nice now."

"Yes," he conceded. "But, I am grateful for what you have done for the Rats."

Morgan frowned and really he did not understand this hesitancy. A few moments earlier she was charging ahead with the census heedless to anything else.

"Is something wrong?"

She flopped gracelessly into her chair with an exaggerated sigh. "I did it for Willa, of course, but I was planning to exact compensation from you."

"And that compensation was to be?"

"Since you'd be so grateful, I'd planned to demand your performance of illustration 34, that's all."

His imagination, which had been nodding off during the mushy and official talk, surged up and Edmund almost blurted out, _Now?_

_Steady. _

He leaned back in his chair, pretending disinterest. "Illustration 34?" he mused. "That is an exorbitant demand. As grateful as I am, I believe performance of Illustration 34 _coupled with_ discussion of the census warrants some additional reciprocal performance upon your part." His intellect and his imagination tussled briefly, with his imagination finally winning out. "I demand your performance of Illustration 18 in recompense"

"Concurrently with your performance of Illustration 34?"

His imagination clamored _yes yes yes!_ His intellect wondered if simultaneous performance of Illustrations 18 and 34 was anatomically possible without prophylactic application of willow bark pain reliever.

"I will entertain that possibility, but not insist upon it," he decided as the safest course. His imagination gave a petulant humph of disappointment, but it wasn't the one who would have to make an explanation to the Physician in the morning if he ended up bed-ridden due to the exertions involved.

"Illustration 18 is a low blow, Harold, even for you."

"Why yes, it is."

She snorted.

The progression of their association revealed Morgan as more academic than experiential in sex. Yet, she was also eclectic, uninhibited, very curious, and unconventional. Much had been explained once she produced her reference text, a book of Calormene erotic poetry with sixty-four detailed illustrations. She had attacked the book's instructions as she would anything else, vigorously. Edmund had happily been recruited into her searching, academic study of the text and rigorous testing of its methods.

"So, census, 18, and 34?" she proposed.

Edmund solemnly held out his hand and she shook it. "Done."

Together, they rolled out the map she had found in the General's roost.

"This is so brilliant," she exclaimed. "Literally a Bird's-eye view."

"With the General, the Gryphon Wings and so many Birds as scouts, it made sense to draft it thus."

This particular map of Narnia was topographical, of a sort, focusing upon all her notable geography, mountains, hills, rivers, streams, and woods. However, it included visual cues to how these things appeared from above, with written explanation, so that when their winged scouts made their reports, they were able to provide information that was accurate and useful to both those on the ground and in the air. The map bridged the perception differences between Beast and Bird.

"And, your proposal?" he asked. "Have you determined how to accomplish a census?" Morgan had insisted upon her return from the Telmar river basin with Lucy that, had they possessed better information about the location and composition of other Beaver lodges, they might have found a place to put Jezebel other than at Cair Paravel. Admittedly, the She-Beaver wasn't causing too much trouble, but she wasn't being very industrious either.

From her pocket, Morgan withdrew a wad of strings. She began laying them out in a criss-cross fashion over the map. "If we put a grid over the map, and number each square, then we can count every Narnian within the square."

Edmund could see immediate problems with that plan, for Morgan was making a Human assumption of stable domiciles. While some Narnians did build homes, even then it was sometimes only for one courtship season, though they might return to the same location the following year. Those that grazed, browsed, flew, or swam did not obey such neat boundaries at all. Most Beasts had a fixed territory at least for part of the year, but it was not defined by neat squares on a map. His intellect decided to not raise the issue yet as he wanted to assure Morgan's performance of Illustration 18. This would not happen if he ended their census discussion too quickly. His imagination was too preoccupied with Illustration 18 to pay any attention at all to the discussion that would result in its performance.

"Given how many Narnians do not read and how many cannot write, how do you propose to count the individuals within a grid?"

She waved her hands so excitedly, he had to duck. "That's easy enough! We'll ask the Crows, of course."

And that would be another problem, though not, perhaps, insurmountable. "You propose sending the Crows to count our citizens?"

Jalur chuffed his disapproval. "That will never work. The Crows will cheat."

Edmund agreed (silently) with his Guard.

Morgan did not. "You just have to design a system that incentivizes them to come back with an accurate assessment. Set up wagering pools for instance and then the Crows will be checking their own numbers." She combed her fingers through her hair absently looking for the quill that would normally be lodged there. Edmund handed it to her over the desk. "Crows will work for Shinys, too."

"So, assuming you can find the Narnians, and organize them to avoid counting errors, and persuade Crows to accurately count them, how do you propose categorizing your information given the diversity of Narnia's population?"

He was very curious if Morgan had considered how to distinguish Trees from trees and how exactly one would go about attaining a "head count" of Water. All in good time. After performance of Illustration 18.

Morgan beamed with enthusiasm. "I'm so glad you asked, Harold!" She reached for the parchment she had been carrying about so tenderly and carefully for the last three days. "I do have some questions!"

Jina sighed from her corner near the strong box. The Hound had probably been enduring Morgan's mania on this subject for days.

"For instance, Harold, is it possibly to classify Red and Black Dwarfs together?"

"No," they all said at once.

"And you must not ask about Black Dwarf females," Edmund cautioned. "Ever. You gravely insult them."

Morgan was busy writing and Edmund felt this point needed further emphasis. "Morgan!"

She looked up. "What?"

"There are serious sensitivities here." Edmund was saying this as much for Jina's benefit. The Hound would understand that if she had to restrain or report Morgan's inquiries, it would be with the confidence that she was acting under his authority. He would reinforce the order with Jina privately later. "You cannot go blundering into some Narnian communities asking for personal information anymore that I could go blundering into the Lone Islands and upend the Tax Code."

Edmund leaned forward, putting a hand on hers. "Morgan?"

"I understand, Harold. This was why I wanted to talk to you." She tried uncorking a fresh ink bottle. Edmund gently, but firmly, took it from her hands and did it for her. Morgan often had issues with ink. "It's political. That's your expertise. I can see that."

She began scribbling notes. "Do you suppose Centaurs would self-identify more as Horse, or Human?"

"They are Centaurs!" Edmund retorted. "They are both Human and Horse."

"I am curious how you will count offspring," Jina said.

Morgan looked up from her notes and turned toward the Hound. "What do you mean?"

"You said yesterday that you normally count offspring as part of the sire's household?" Edmund could hear how Jina stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

"Yes," Morgan replied.

"What if there is no house? And what do you do if the offspring from one litter have different sires?"

Morgan's quill was poised for so long it began to drip. Edmund handed her a blotter.

"Offspring from one litter can have more than one father?" Morgan asked, wonderment in her tone.

"Of course," Jina replied.

"_Fascinating_."

She bent to her notes and began frantically writing again.

"I would like to know what you will do about the Otters in Narnia," Jalur said.

Edmund laughed. "You believe Otters will submit to being counted?"

"No," Jalur intoned. "And so I do not think we should count them. I think we should just eat the Otters instead."

"If you eat all the Otters, Friend, there will be none to chase."

Jalur yawned and stretched, snagging two long claws on Mrs. Furner's carefully mended rugs. "A fair point. I shall leave two mating pairs alive."

"First thing we do is kill all the Otters," Morgan babbled. A frown creased her face and Edmund watched warily. She reached for another piece of scrap parchment and nearly upended the inkwell. "Or is it Lawyers? First thing we do is kill all the Lawyers?"

"Not Bankers?" he asked.

"Bankers bury the Lawyers and divide the spoils."

Edmund thought that sounded ominous given how perilously close "Just" was to Lawyer.

"Your classification and sensitivity points are a valid concern, Harold," Morgan mused. "For instance, how would we classify Cheetahs?"

"They are all Great Cats," Edmund said.

Low growls, both from woman and Tiger, indicated he had erred.

"What?"

"I am a Great Cat," Jalur said smugly. "Lions are Great Cats. I concede that Leopards and Jaguars, small though they are, are Great Cats. Cheetahs are not."

Morgan nodded earnestly. "Cheetahs are very distinct, Harold. Really, you should know this. They have semi-retractable claws and they purr, and do not roar."

"You have been in the Physician's Library again, haven't you?"

"He is brilliant!" Morgan spoke this with a fervent and passionate enthusiasm he really preferred directed at his person, intellect and contracting draftsmanship skills. In this though, Edmund did not feel envy, as the object of her admiration - the Palace Physician - was a rodent and a very prickly one at that.

"We have spent a considerable time in his office," Jina confirmed from her corner. She had been licking her paw, not something the Hound normally did in polite company.

"Are you healing well from your close encounter with our good Physician, Jina?" Edmund asked the Hound. She was too well-mannered to complain of the injury for her own part.

"Very well, thank you, King Edmund." She looked up. "Lady Morgan?"

The Hound repeated the query several times, but Morgan was engrossed in her spreadsheet. The Hound climbed to her feet and shoved her nose under Morgan's arm. Edmund hid the smirk.

"Oh, yes, Jina?"

"To your point about Cheetahs? Regardless of the Physician's views, the High King and his Guard will take ill to any suggestion that Cheetahs are not Great Cats."

"Oh." She waved her arm in his general direction, splattering ink. "This is more politics. That's for you to deal with, Harold."

This had gone on far enough. Let Morgan loose in Narnia with her spreadsheet, a list of impertinent questions, and a Murder of Crows, and they would have civil war within a ten-day. Edmund slammed a hand down on the table. "I am not going to suggest to my brother that his Guard do not qualify as Great Cats."

Morgan looked up, eyes gleaming with challenge. "Do you mean you won't, ever, or do you mean you will only do so with proper inducement?"

"Inducement?" his imagination echoed.

"In addition to Illustration 18?"

Evil Banker Morgan surely deserved her epithet. She may not be accustomed to being social around Humans, but she knew exactly how to carry the day with _this_ particular one. His intellect awarded a victorious point in her favor.

"_Illustration 23!" his imagination clamored. "23! 23!" _His imagination would classify Cheetahs as house cats to attain Morgan's performance of Illustration 23._  
_

Perhaps, his intellect considered, Cheetahs might be placed in their own _special_ census category.

0O0OO00OOO

Classification of Cheetahs notwithstanding, the census was, Edmund came to see, really not a bad idea at all. He and Susan were engrossed in the Tax Code revisions, and so the planning of the census occupied Morgan and the Crows and the Physician.

Susan had worried that Morgan might be offended at this exclusion from their councils, but this she had greeted with (another) eyeroll and her repeated refrain. "I'm not here officially. I don't represent Narnia." While this did not wholly explain it, Edmund speculated that a duty of loyalty and confidentiality would accompany this representation. In the absence of such a formal relationship, she had no expectation of being admitted into their confidences on a matter of such importance and in fact assumed they were foolish if they did so. These were distinctions that mattered under the practices of the banking syndicates, and so they continued to tread cautiously, even if the boundaries were often stretched.

The highly confidential nature of the relationships between the banking syndicates and their clients also explained why the whole business was so shrouded in secrecy. In thinking about it, he realized that heads of state and the other high ranking dignitaries with whom they dealt, were often more open about with whom they shared their beds than about who held their monies.

More importantly, he and Susan were of the view that the examination of the policies underlying the Tax Code and the necessary revisions were the business of the Narnia monarchy. And so, he and Susan would limit themselves to asking Morgan specific questions. Her answers were sometimes discursive or digressive but once provided and sorted, they were always illuminating.

As with the _Trade Winds_ bargaining, Morgan was, simply put, helpful and her contributions saved him and Susan countless hours. The expertise was such that he and Susan began to entertain the possibility of actually retaining her in an "official" capacity. A decision of that magnitude, however, required Peter's participation as well.

The weather grew warmer, the pollen lessened, and Cair Paravel settled into its peaceful, summer rhythm. To the surprise of no one, Peter's journey south to Archenland became another ten-day with Lune, then another after that, and finally a trip to Calormen and a visit with the Tisroc. His tournament armor was sent for. Then, upon receiving a message about brigands in the mountain passes of Archenland, Lucy rode out with an Army unit, a Gryphon Wing, Peter's battle armor, and his war horse. Whether the brigands actually materialized or fled in the face of such daunting force did not really matter. Lucy, Peter, and their soldiers romped through the cool southern mountains and if they tarried there longer than was necessary, the good company, fine weather, and lack of other pressing business were to blame.

One morning, Susan announced that she had had quite enough – cryptically observing that if Lucy and Peter were off in the mountains and as Edmund was having a very pleasant summer indeed, that she too would see a respite. She rode off the next day on the Hell Bitch with Lambert and a light guard to visit the slopes of the Faun winemakers. She would return to the dragon of the Tax Code when, and not until, Peter did.

And then, Edmund found he was a King alone in his normally bustling castle, with no business other than the Tax Code and only his lover for company.

He continued to toil on with the Code, coming to understand better why tradesmen preferred operating under the generous and forgiving provisions of the Lone Island laws – leaving aside the questionable authority of their Protectorate in enacting its own laws in the first instance, as Narnia law should, but in fact did not, apply to much of anything at all in the Lone Islands. After wearying of his summonses for "just one more question, if you will, Morgan," she joined him in the Tower Library for good. And so, they would work together, he with Narnia's business, and Morgan with hers.

This pattern persisted except when Leszi's threats become too dire and the Sword Master summoned the King for a trouncing on the training ground. Edmund's ego was not wholly satisfied – Morgan had no interest at all in watching his drills and martial practices and it would have been gratifying if she appreciated his prowess at arms as she admired his intellect, contracting draftsmanship, and person. It was probably just as well as Leszi was eager to extract revenge for his recent injuries suffered at Edmund's own hand. However, the Sword Master also sent a huge bouquet of lilies to Morgan with his compliments; the flowers made Morgan sneeze.

The sneezing was really what started it. The flowers stayed in her room and Morgan and then her belongings began to appear in his rooms. Edmund found that it was not the imposition he had expected. Previous lovers had never persisted beyond a few days and once the passion was spent, his interest had waned. The Code and her knowledge provided a framework for their interaction beyond his initial attraction. Edmund also found, perversely, that he slept more soundly when Morgan shared his bed.

So, they would wake, break fast together, and then work. In the afternoons, they might swim, or sail, or ride. She was awkward at so many things but she truly enjoyed sailing, and it pleased him to tack about the inlet in a little skiff and introduce Morgan to the seabirds and Mer-people. In the evenings, they would read, talk, and walk about.

He learned she had one younger brother and that she had been given her first investments and positions to manage at the same age he had ascended to the Narnian throne. He learned of the role of the House of Linch as compared to the other houses and that the families grew, expanded and profited through "joint ventures" with other houses. How a House managed its financial empire for generation upon generation was a complex matter of blood, marriage, and dynastic inheritance as complex as any Calormene succession.

Appalled at his self-taught skills, Morgan began teaching him how to conduct financial analyses with a more critical eye. She provided a foundation and formal language for things he had tried to master on his own – balance sheets and income statements, marginal and fixed costs, gross and net income, leveraging, returns on investment and management of assets, borrowing and debt.

Edmund never felt he was a particularly demanding person (Jalur disagreed), but really, the things he wanted, he found he had. He did not want the Palace staff to fuss and he wanted everyone to enjoy the summer as he was. Everything moved slowly and became simpler, every day seemed more Narnian. They settled for stale bread or none at all because really, why should the bakers not sleep in? Why bother with heating the ovens or turning the spit for just the two of them when something could be had from the cold larder and the garden? Why make the mess of table settings and linens for two when he and Morgan could just sit side by side, ankles locked together, and share a plate and a mug, or go on to the lawns or down to the beach?

He and Morgan wished for no evening entertainment than what they themselves provided, and much of that came from implementing the numbered illustrations in her volume of Calormene erotic poetry. Repeated testing established that Illustrations 18 and 34 in fact could not be performed simultaneously – at least not with the resources available to them.

In that regard, she was as concerned as he was to avoid consequences and so Jina was always consulted. They erred on the side of caution and that was no imposition at all – particularly with the Calormene suggested alternatives. Something in this regard nagged at the corner of his mind, something that was unusual, but not concerning; they were of one mind and that was all that mattered.

Even his official correspondence lessened and his briefings shortened. It seemed no one made any demands on him at all. It was so peaceful, he suspected that perhaps all of Narnia was conspiring to leave him to enjoy the lazy summer days and nights with Morgan.

Something was occurring, and Edmund really could not name it. For the first time ever, his active imagination was sated. His intellect found a new, appreciative audience and foil. They argued, because really, Morgan was so peculiar and wrong-headed sometimes. But, there was no rancor and the making up was pleasurable, sometimes passionately so. He was content, as he had never been before.

He found himself trying to compare the situation to his own observations and previous experiences and found them all irrelevant and uninformative. None of his siblings had been in such an association; the courtships, love affairs, arrangements, and sundry he had seen in other human courts and households did not cover the situation in which he found himself. It felt Narnian, but he knew of no Narnian whose course would have been similar. No other lover had provided so much, demanded so little, and lasted for so long.

Uncomfortably, he tried to recall what he knew of such things from the place they had come from, but the views of the child he had been were too hazy in detail and too distant from the man he was in the situation in which he found himself.

It was new and without precedent.

0O00OO000OO

That afternoon it was hot and stuffy in the castle and the Code's provisions regarding tax exempt status for certain accounts and commercial associations seemed even more impenetrable than usual. Edmund could see why certain entities might as a matter of policy, enjoy such status but found the exceptions themselves frustratingly arbitrary and Morgan could provide no illumination. "I only deal with profit-making entities, Harold," she had said with an irritatingly superior sniff. "Just memorize the exceptions and if you want to understand the whys, consult with an expert."

Rather than arguing with her, they left for the beach. At Morgan's suggestion, they picked their way to the end of the quay. It had not been an easy walk for her for they had to scramble over the spray soaked rocks. Edmund suspected she had selected the place deliberately, for neither Jina nor Jalur liked the wet, rocky, narrow quay and would satisfy their duty by waiting at the end of the jetty, at a distance likely out of even Jina's earshot.

Finally reaching the quay's end, Morgan had wordlessly settled on a sturdy outcropping. Edmund joined her and together they dangled their feet in the tidal pools. She had turned a deep brown from the summer sun. His imagination had taken the opportunity to connect every freckle that had bloomed on her darkening skin. His intellect had determined that the constellation spreading from her shoulder to back was very like the Narnia Leopard.

The Gulls were fighting over fish. After an especially raucous exchange and some salty words, Edmund had had enough and bellowed at the Birds, "Friends! Please take your argument away from your King!" With squawks of apologies, the Gulls flew further down the quay.

"I am sorry," Edmund said, bumping against her shoulder. "They are sometimes as bad as Crows, really."

She shrugged. "They did leave. The Otters would have argued with you until Jalur chased them away."

With a deepening frown, Morgan watched the Birds fighting over bits of bloodied fish.

"Am I as bad as that?" she suddenly blurted.

Edmund's imagination, which had been visualizing the freckles that had blossomed on her breast in the summer sun, yelped and slunk away, concluding that this could only lead to some sort of disagreeable and frightening personal discussion.

His intellect, Edmund knew from painful experience, was not well-suited to a conversation begun thus either, but was willing to give it a go. At least if she stormed off in an emotional huff, Morgan would not be able to go very far or fast without falling into the harbour.

"As bad as what?" he began tentatively.

"I've heard it said that I have the manners of a Crow." Morgan tilted her head in the direction of the Gulls. "And you said the Gulls are sometimes as bad as they are. So, am I as bad as they are?"

His imagination crawled deeper into its hole.

"Well no," Edmund began, wishing the rest of him could follow his imagination into the burrow.

"No?"

"You do not swear as the Gulls do."

She snorted. "Now who is Crow-like?"

Edmund put his hands, palms up, conceding the point. "In some contexts, I admit to not being especially adroit."

"Such as a discussion like this one?"

He nodded. "I do very poorly at it and avoid it at all costs." Morgan had not shown herself to be the delicate and sensitive type. It was one reason why they had… Here, his intellect and imagination both froze up, for it really was beyond his ken to describe what they had both been enjoying, other than that it had been characterized by the refreshing absence of this uncomfortable personal talk and the whole of him wished it to continue.

"Because she ends up invariably calling you Ass or Brute? Or lazy arse, brother, father, or Peter?"

He felt a little abashed recalling that first, very cavalier conversation of theirs in the Tower Library. "Yes. There is also usually yelling. Objects thrown at my head. And elaborate apologies Susan holds me to making at arrow point."

"And Jalur criticizes?"

"Oddly, not typically. I do not think he has liked my past lovers over much."

He had thought that would please her. Instead, Morgan countered, "Yet, Jalur is tolerating a Crow now?"

"Well, he has to, being a Guard to his Monarch."

Belatedly, Edmund realized this was just the sort of blunt statement that always resulted in the crying, yelling, and thrown pottery.

Yet, the eruption did not come. Morgan just shook her head. "Harold, I may be a Crow, but you have your moments of similarity, too."

He laughed. He could not help it. And with a stab of clarity, Edmund tried to articulate the inspiration.

"And these are reasons why I like Crows. They are clever, and I respect them and their courage to challenge even their Monarch."

"And all this admiration in spite of their bad manners?"

Edmund almost said yes, and a moment later, congratulated himself for managing to stay his tongue. "It is what they are, Morgan, and I value them perhaps in spite of, but also because of, their ways."

It might have been a trick of the light, and it happened so quickly, it might not have been there at all. Morgan shrugged again and rubbed her cheek on her shoulder. Edmund put a hand over hers and pretended to not see it.

She stared again out over the water, eyes wandering to the Gulls flapping about on the shore. "You remember what I have said before? About how I had to be here unofficially or my managing partner would not have let me come?"

"Yes." While most of the business of her House remained mysterious, for Morgan was very tight-lipped about it, some had become clearer. The contract covering her stay and the careful revisions she had made to the document made more sense as his understanding of the Lone Islands banking syndicates had evolved. Her changes to the contract had all been designed to delineate and clarify the separation between Narnia and Morgan, and so by assumption and extension, her House.

"One of the letters that came on the ship was from my Manager. He wanted confirmation that, since he'd had no word, he could assume I had not been thrown out of Narnia yet or started a diplomatic problem that he'd have to repair."

"That sounds very harsh," Edmund replied, feeling angry at the lack of tact, even if her past experiences warranted the concern. Really, if that sort of callous behavior was the norm of her House, it was little wonder Morgan was as she was.

Yet, that did not explain the whole of it. There was something off about how Morgan dealt with Humans. With so many Beasts and Near Humans, it was of little consequence in Narnia. But, elsewhere, it would be a considerable handicap for her and she could easily be an embarrassment to her House. It was not a theoretical concern.

"I try, Harold. I really do," Morgan muttered miserably. "I know I'm rubbish at all this and the harder I try, the worse it is."

"Perhaps you should not try so hard. It might come more easily if you were more at ease." Edmund thought his lame statement might have sounded better if he had not ended it on so questioning a note.

She stuck her foot in a pool and flicked water away; even the gesture was mockingly petulant.

"If I had a Crescent or a Tree for every time I have heard that advice, I would own Terebinthia outright."

"Oh." He cast about, trying to find the right words, but was really more interested in just how much Morgan was worth and how one could go about buying an entire country. Irritated, he tossed a pebble into the bay with more force than was strictly needed.

"What?" Morgan asked. "Did I say something Crow-like?" Her _again_ was unspoken.

"No," he assured her hurriedly. "It is only that… well, have you ever met a Narnian Humingbird?"

"No," Morgan replied, frowning at this digression.

"They are very much like Otters. And Gulls."

"And Crows?" Morgan prompted, sounding angry again.

"No, I would put Crows in a separate category that I greatly admire."

He realized after he said it that he had complimented her. Morgan smiled and put her cheek on his shoulder. For that, his imagination came back out of the hole and attempted to look down her gaping shirt front to admire her un-corseted freckles.

"I remember Susan once telling me of an argument she had with a visitor who insisted that we teach our Hummingbirds better manners. Susan told her that we might as well teach a Great Cat to eat grass and Lambert encouraged our visitor to raise her complaints of the shortcomings of the Beasts of Narnia with Aslan."

"They are what they are because they were made that way," Morgan replied, sounding almost bitter.

"We are not all the same in Narnia," Edmund corrected. "That is very much a good thing."

The conversation, though, made him realize, as she had already reminded him, that his behavior could be lacking as well. "I have been remiss and ill-mannered myself. I should make you known to him."

Her head snapped up, startled. As was her way, her eyes looked, not at his, but over his shoulder, just askance.

"Who?" she squeaked, sounding very like Teddy.

"Aslan. I should have presented you to him weeks ago." The realization made him uncomfortable, and his first thoughts were scrambled and embarrassed. _I apologize my Lord. Forgive me._

"He is real? Really real? Really a Lion?"

"Yes, yes, and yes. Aslan is real, really real, and really a Lion."

Morgan shivered and a sort of silly, protective side of him, enjoyed sliding an arm around her. The sun was beginning to sink behind them and Edmund could sense, in tune with the rhythms of Narnia, that the days were shortening. Summer would be ending soon.

As if divining that thought, Morgan leaned into his arm and stared at the rocky pool at their feet. "My Manager also reminded me that the contract covering my stay is expiring soon."

"Yes." He found the words were sticking in his mouth, intellect and imagination clamoring to have a say; his reason struggling to articulate anything at all that could satisfy the raging uncertainty, save for one thing that he knew was immature and foolish, but he could not stop. He was not ready for these idyllic days and nights to end.

"Perhaps, in the alternative, we might add a rider to the contract and extend the expiry?"

Again she looked to him, though her eyes fixed on some place other than his own.

"You would like me stay longer?"

"Yes, if you will."

"That's complicated," she said quietly.

"Yes," Edmund agreed as quietly, thinking of the complexities he could but imagine for her House. He suspected she was one of the senior heirs to the House of Linch fortune and for all her peculiar ways, unquestionably a valued part of their management. Given her acumen, she had not been shunted off, out of sight and mind, to be forgotten by her House. Rather, the fact that Morgan had negotiated so long an absence from her House bespoke the influence and power she wielded, even in spite of her poor socialisation.

Nor had he sorted out what this all meant for him. Or, other things, which he still balked at and was not ready to even name. But none of these issues would be resolved with her in the Lone Islands.

"I _would_ like to extend the termination date of the contract, Harold."

He brought fingers to her chin, and gently tilted her face closer to his own. "Could you indulge me and say that again, but with my real name?"

For a wild, hopeful moment, he thought she might be able to focus on him. But, Morgan could not and her eyes slid by to some unseen middle distance.

"I would like to extend the termination date of the contract. Edmund"

Edmund would wonder, for the rest of his short life, what might have happened had the summer lasted another month or three. But, four days later, Peter and Lucy returned from Archenland and the summer holiday ended abruptly.

* * *

To follow:  
**Chapter 5, _Back to School_**  
And then, on to the Lone Islands

* * *

I've discussed a little bit in my profile and a lot in my Live Journal about my hiatus in light of what occurred at the end of _The Queen Susan in Tashbaan_. Thank you for bearing with me through a long, long absence. If you are so inclined, please review. Feedback has a way of ending up in my stories.


	5. Chapter 5  Back To School

**Harold and Morgan: Not a Romance, Chapter 5  
Back to School  
**_In which more is learned of what others did over their summer vacations._

* * *

Lucy jogged back from the Barracks and Training Yard, irritation warring with amusement. It was to have been a simple request and straightforward return to her morning routines at Cair Paravel. A blade to be sharpened and a few links hammered out in her mail shirt. She had lost all her coifs during the time away South with Peter and the Army and getting things on and off had damaged both her hair (of no special consequence) and her mail shirt (of greater concern but easily repaired). She'd wanted a quick morning spar in the Yard to try out some Archenland footwork she had learned before joining her brothers and sister for breakfast.

Instead…

"My Queen?" Briony asked, trotting beside her.

"I am annoyed," Lucy admitted, climbing the Palace steps.

"Compose yourself," the Wolf said gently. Briony seemed far more accepting of these inconveniences that Lucy would have expected. Usually, her Guard was more sensitive to affront than Lucy was and made her opinions on the affront known.

"These are minor. I know that, Briony, dear. It is all just so very peculiar and not at all what I'd expected after being gone for so much of the summer."

Lucy stalked into the Conservatory breakfast room. Peter was already in his accustomed place at the table's head. The expression on her brother's face neatly mirrored her own internal state.

"Something amiss, my brother?" Lucy asked, giving him a squeeze to the shoulder and sliding into her seat. "Good morning Fooh, Beehn," she waved to the Cheetah brothers of Peter's Guard.

"Good morning, Queen Lucy," Fooh replied politely. Beehn was asleep. He said he dozed all the time to save his strength for when he needed speed. Beehn was the fastest Cheetah in Narnia. He was also a lazy sot.

"Not amiss, exactly," Peter replied. He gestured to the table. "However, do you notice anything odd?"

Lucy stared at the plates, platters and bowls. All neatly set out, all very welcome after over a month away. Eggs, fruits, juice, meats, tea, coffee, cream.

"Bread? Muffins? Toast?" Lucy frowned. It was not that she required an apple muffin or toast with preserves, but neither could she recall a meal where it was wholly lacking, except when by order and design.

"We have no baked items at all," Peter replied. "It seems the kitchen chimney is blocked and the problem was only discovered this morning."

"Blocked? How can it be blocked? That has never happened before." Lucy helped herself to some tea.

Speaking over the rim of his coffee cup, Lucy could sense but not fully see the smile on her brother's face. "Cook appeared before me herself to apologize."

They both observed a moment of silence in recognition of so extraordinary and singular an event.

"Cook explained that the kitchen ovens have not been lit for at least the last ten-day and so no one noticed the chimney blockage until the bakers tried to light them early this morning."

"Not lit? For _days_?" Lucy glanced at the seat where Edmund usually sat. There was another chair next to his – a very, very close chair. And only one table setting.

Distantly, Lucy heard a clatter and hammering. The Dwarfs would have the chimney repaired in no time. Still, it was very peculiar.

"They have done without anything baked?"

Peter nodded.

Lucy blew out a breath. "It seems that the disuse that has ailed our chimney has spread to the Training Yard and the Barracks."

Now Peter frowned and Lucy felt her pique vindicated. "Do tell, Sister."

"I went to the Yard this morning to see to my sword. I was hoping to go a round or two with Sir Leszi and have him review those Archenland maneuvers."

"And?" Peter asked setting down his cup.

"I had to rouse Leszi from the Birch grove."

Her brother frowned more deeply. "Is there something wrong?"

"Our esteemed Sword Master was having a lie in."

"What?" Peter jumped up, alarmed. "Is he well? I know he was injured…"

"There is nothing wrong, save that Leszi has a paunch."

"A… paunch?" Peter sank back to his chair. Following upon blocked ovens and an apology from Cook, Sir Leszi in anything but top fighting form surely heralded the End of Time.

"He has become plump over the summer from too much wine, too many Dryads, and too little drilling."

Peter was so dumbfounded he only stared.

Lucy continued. "Moreover, the Great Cats of the Claw?" The Claw denoted the Felines in the Army, with the Cats spread among all the fighting units.

She noticed that Fooh was listening intently. Her brother's Guard would be passing this information on. "The Felines are _fat_. They are as plump and sleek as any house cat."

Lucy helped herself to some eggs and added meat besides. It was going to be a long day. "The Training Yard actually has weeds growing because no one has been using it. The Dryads of the March are as leafy green as the Cats of the Claw are fat." Granted, the Dryads did sprout a lot in the summer months, but those who drilled with the Army were kept well pruned and trim for they lost their leafy growth during training.

"A Royal Inspection is certainly called for," Peter said.

"I told them they could expect me and the High King tomorrow morning," Lucy said smugly. She had already set a few knees to knocking.

"Which means a surprise inspection this afternoon." Peter pitched his voice a little louder, to the air. "And if anyone is listening _**We**_ Request that such intent _**Not**_ be made known in Our Army. _**Are We Clear**_?"

Lucy glanced at Briony, but if the Wolf heard any scurrying of listening Rats or Birds, she made no sign.

"And what of…" Lucy tilted her head toward the two chairs situated so close together.

"Susan will inform Edmund as much as she able after their security briefing."

"And you will …"

Peter reached across and put a hand on her arm. "I will, yes. Do not trouble yourself, Lucy. It will be well."

Lucy nodded stiffly, assuaged that Peter was taking responsibility for this Banker business. There would be a meeting once everyone arrived and she felt a small pang realizing that the last time they had met thus was the day Edmund had dumped the juice down Even More Dim's bodice. That night they had laced Jina into Morgan's corset when Susan's had not fit. It was such a light-hearted beginning to what had become more serious and, where her brother was concerned, very unexpected. Lucy desperately wanted no part of the conversation once it turned to the financial situation. Boredom and distaste made her want to flee to the Training Yard and knock some heads. But, Lucy was not sure she would be able to escape, or if it was wise to do so. This was going to be awkward and her presence could probably be helpful. She knew Peter's objectives and could help him steer toward consensus.

"Mr. Hoberry comes," Fooh said, sounding very pleased to have beaten Briony to the announcement.

The clip of the Faun's hooves echoed as he approached. Lucy felt a twinge of sympathy for their Head Housekeeper. He would feel the blocked ovens on their first morning back as a personal failure.

Lucy turned in her seat. "Good morning, Mr. Hoberry!"

"Welcome back, Queen Lucy."

She reached out her hands to take his, but the Faun was juggling a basket.

"If you will permit me first, Queen Lucy?"

"Mr. Hoberry, you have found a way to accomplish bread without an oven?" Peter asked, taking the fragrant basket and peeking under the linen.

The Faun bowed his head. "Again, my apologies, your Majesties. Yes, High King we have devised a temporary substitute…"

A loud crash from the direction of the kitchens made the Faun wince. "I assure you that by teatime all will be as it should."

Lucy could not bear to see him so mortified. She bounded up and hugged him, deciding to place the fault, such as it was, where it belonged. "Mr. Hoberry! If our brother has survived without the ovens for a ten-day, we may manage for a meal or two. It is of no consequence to us."

"Thank you, Queen Lucy. We certainly did not expect you until today."

"The weather was threatening and it seemed such a bother to set camp," Lucy said, retaking her seat and grabbing a warm roll from the basket before Peter ate them all. The bread was oddly shaped but smelt wonderfully and she wondered how they had managed it. Truly, though, nothing surprised her where Mr. Hoberry and Mrs. Furner's collective ingenuity was concerned.

"Once Susan joined us on the road, we wanted nothing more than to be in our beds and so pressed on," Peter added, wrestling the bread basket from Lucy's hands.

She resisted and pulled the bread basket back. "And speaking of Susan, you must save some for her!" Edmund could do without as he was the real culprit behind all this disorganization.

"Banker Morgan and Jina, your Majesties," Briony said, interrupting their tugging war. The basket landed on the table. Lucy swiftly removed two rolls, put them on Peter's place, and pulled the basket closer and out of his long reach.

Mr. Hoberry crossed to the other side of the table, swiftly poured a cup of tea, added a trickle of cream, and set the cup at the extra chair.

Banker Morgan stopped at the room's entry. Jina would have warned her, so she was not surprised. She did look very uncomfortable.

"Your Majesties," she murmured and dropped to her awkward bowing curtsey. "Welcome back."

"Now, Morgan, none of that!" Lucy exclaimed, bouncing up to embrace her friend. "We do not want to begin with the titles all over again!"

Peter had already stood, but Mr. Hoberry held out the chair for Morgan. It all appeared quite familiar to the two of them and her smile of thanks was very genuine.

"Thank you, Mr. Hoberry. King Edmund and Queen Susan were having their briefing and will be down soon."

The Faun discreetly slid the cup toward her waiting hand.

"Good morning, Banker Morgan," Peter said, sitting back down. "Jina, it is good to see you looking so well." Here, the High King paused for, as the Hound entered the Conservatory, her appearance could not pass uncommented. "Lady Hound, have you now replaced the corset with a _bow_?"

At that extraordinary pronouncement, Beehn even woke up.

On seeing Jina come around the table, Briony muttered, in imitation of Lucy herself, "Oh dear."

A snarl from Jina silenced whatever Fooh was going to say. Lucy could not begin to determine how the status and politics would work between the two of them – a junior Feline to the High King versus a very senior Canine and Guard to the Just King's lover.

"Regrettably, High King," Jina replied, shaking the very large bow tied around her neck.

"And the bows are not limited to Jina!" Lucy cried as she spotted something protruding from behind Morgan. "Oh, Morgan, _a pink_ bow!"

The Banker turned her head and touched the braid in the back. "At least Jina got a red one."

"Surely green would have been more fitting for you?" Peter remarked.

It was very fast and subtle, but Lucy saw Morgan flash a narrowed eyed look at Peter. Her brother nodded slightly to Morgan.

_And so it begins._ Lucy sighed inwardly. It was Peter's first warning shot and judging from Morgan's curious expression, she recognized it as such.

"Jezebel is improving," Mr. Hoberry commented, examining the bows on Hound and Banker. "Shall I, Banker Morgan?"

"Please."

Mr. Hoberry deftly straightened Morgan's bow so it sat a little straighter, a little lower, and a great deal smaller.

Mr. Hoberry's familiarity and Morgan's "Thank you, as always," made Lucy think that Jezebel had been decorating them for some time. She needed to speak to Mrs. Furner about just how awful it had been – Lucy did feel some guilt for foisting the lazy Beaver on the rest of the Cair Paravel household.

Jina sighed and settled to the right of Jalur's station. It was, interestingly, the place that Edmund's first Guard, Merle, had claimed.

"I will see to warming the pots," Mr. Hoberry said. "Do your require anything else, your Majesties, Banker Morgan?"

"Actually, there is, Mr. Hoberry," Peter said. "I am correct that there is an unused room on this floor? Adjacent to the Great Hall?"

"There is, High King. We use it occasionally for staging foods and drinks when entertaining large numbers."

Lucy knew that Mr. Hoberry and Mrs. Furner also hid cookbooks there that they did not want Cook to find. Not that the absence of a recipe ever prevented Cook from preparing stewed offal meats. If anything, it only made Cook more creative.

"Please have it readied with the furniture for an office and," here Peter paused as another crash and boom reverberated from the kitchens, "and once the Dwarfs have completed their repair of the ovens, please have them place a lock on the door."

"A lock?" Mr. Hoberry repeated. That the request surprised the unflappable Faun showed how very unusual it was. Undoubtedly seeing that his question might be interpreted as impertinent, Mr. Hoberry smoothly continued, "Of course, High King. How many keys will be required?"

"Only one," Peter said.

Mr. Hoberry retreated back to the kitchens.

_So that is how he decided to handle it. _Lucy greatly admired how adroit Peter was.

"Banker Morgan," Peter began.

She looked up from her picked over breakfast. "Sir?"

"King Lune charged me to deliver a box of papers to you."

Morgan's eyes widened in surprise. She, however, said nothing, which Lucy had understood was the anticipated response.

"Oh?"

Peter continued on. "The papers are in the strong box in my office. You may keep them there until the lock is placed on the office, to which you may then remove them. You will have the only key to the room and should you require any other security measures, you have only to make your needs known."

Lucy knew her brother had been debating how to approach this whole Lone Islands concern. He and Susan had discussed it hurriedly yesterday on the final leg of their ride to Cair and that had been one of the reasons for their sudden return. Peter wanted to set all this necessary business in motion and before the winter storms began in the Eastern seas.

"Thank you, Sir," Morgan responded, her voice bland.

"Not at all," Peter replied. "Your discretion is admirable and I shall report of it to King Lune, though he told me I could expect no less. So that we might enjoy more than a one-sided conversation on this subject, King Lune also provided me with a letter which will allow you to speak more freely."

Morgan's eyes darted to the tray at Peter's elbow piled with his summer correspondence. A letter sealed with Great Bear of Archenland was on top. Lucy wondered now if Morgan had seen it when she entered the Conservatory.

Peter nodded and handed it to her. "Just so. I would ask that you review the letter from King Lune and then join us at Council. We would value your opinions."

Food forgotten, Morgan slipped her fingers under the flap and cracked the wax of the seal. Her eyes ran quickly over the letter, her authorization from King Lune. Without it, Lucy understood that Morgan, as she had all summer, would say nothing whatsoever regarding her long relationship with and deep knowledge of Narnia's closest ally.

For all her blunt honesty and open manner of speaking, Morgan was very adept at keeping her own counsel. It might have been a deliberate ploy in which she pretended to be unthinkingly frank so that her concealing of deeper secrets was not suspected. Lucy did not think so, but Susan disagreed. Peter had kept his own views to himself.

"Thank you, Sir. There are other letters for me as well?"

"There are."

Morgan vaulted from her seat. "Can I see them? Now?"

Jina's growl was weary and frustrated. "Banker Morgan you should not order the High King at his own table, and after a long absence."

"I'm sorry, Sir." And, Morgan was sorry for the inconvenience, but not sorry for the request.

"Thank you, Jina, but it is well. I had anticipated this and letters that found their long way here through me are bound to be important."

As Peter pushed away from the table to rise, Lucy caught a quick hand signal. This was what her brother intended. _Be easy._

It was strange to see. Lucy had become very accustomed to Morgan's slightly off balance manner, stilted and rambling speech, and her borrowed Narnian dress – this morning she was in trousers and what was certainly one of Edmund's shirts, right down to the ink-stains. But, as Morgan followed Peter out of the room, it seemed something was pushing that odd, casual person aside – something hard, focused, and very competent. Was this the woman Edmund had first noticed in the Tower Library?

"Wake up!" Fooh snapped, swatting Beehn on the nose.

"What? We're leaving already? I thought they'd be talking all morning!"

Grumbling, and with a click click of claws, Beehn scrambled after the others out of the breakfast room. Lucy thought she heard voices in the entry. Briony nodded her head once. Lucy ate as quickly as she could manage and stole the still warm rolls from Peter's plate.

When Susan and Edmund entered, Lucy bounced up from her seat (again) to hug her brother.

Edmund picked her up and swung her around, but Lucy was not deceived. She could feel the tension in his shoulders that had not been there when she had left a month ago. Lucy hugged him tighter.

"We were not expecting you until tomorrow!" Edmund scolded. "Coming on us in the dead of night like that!"

"It was not that late! We were all just wild to be home after so long on the…"

There was another crash from the direction of the kitchens. Edmund had the courtesy to look embarrassed.

"My deepest apologies for the state of our ovens, Sisters. We simply had no need of them and never noticed."

_We._

"Cook even apologized to Peter!" Lucy whispered.

"And to me as well," Susan said. "Though I understand from my meeting with Mr. Hoberry this morning that they were able to improvise and so grace our table with bread." Making her own statement on the subject, Susan took the bread basket and set it between her own seat and Lucy's. So placed, neither Peter nor Edmund would be able to reach it.

Lucy kissed Susan on the cheek; they had ridden together last night and Susan had fallen asleep in mid-sentence at the foot of Lucy's bed. Her sister had a firm expression of pleasantness on her face. It fooled virtually everyone, including her brothers, but Lucy knew better. Between the tension in Edmund's shoulders and the set of Susan's jaw, Lucy assumed that their prefatory discussion had not gone well.

As her brother and sister took their seats, Lucy now watched the Guards out of the corner of her eye. _What the Monarch feels, the Guard reveals_. Jalur was not as skilled at hiding his Monarch's emotions as Lambert who mirrored Susan's outward calm perfectly. Not a hair was out of place around the Wolf's ruff. Only the way Briony looked searchingly at her mate, with nostrils flared, hinted at Lambert and Susan's uneasiness. But, as the Tiger silently stalked to his post, his ears were turned back and his tail flat. So, even though he was not showing any obvious outward signs, according to Jalur, Edmund was tense and unhappy.

_Peter, get back here! Soon!_

Following the instinct that they could but guess at, Mr. Hoberry trotted in a moment later with the tea and coffee pots.

"Good morning your Majesties, Royal Guards."

"Mr. Hoberry, an extra setting for me if you would?" Edmund asked, so politely bland every sensitive ear in the room twitched.

"Of course, King Edmund."

Lucy felt another pang for the Faun as he set a plate and cutlery from the sideboard before Edmund. Blocked ovens, Cook apologizing, Dwarfs mucking about in the kitchen (there was another bang), a key for an unprecedented door lock, and now an implied dereliction for failing to anticipate a change in what had been routine.

_Nothing for it then._

"Did you see Morgan and Peter just now?" Lucy asked.

"We did," Susan said. "Thank you, Mr. Hoberry," as the Faun poured her coffee. "That will be all for now. Please close the doors as you leave."

"Certainly, Queen Susan."

Lucy glanced at Briony and Lambert as Mr. Hoberry left. The pair gave no sign of eavesdroppers. They were giving Jalur an even wider berth than usual. With the Tiger mirroring Edmund's inward stress, it was bothering the Wolves.

"And here I had assumed that Peter had spent the summer beating Calormene soldiers to a pulp in the tourney ring and cavorting about the mountains," Edmund finally said. "And instead I learn he has been in the viper's den of Banker iniquity and that Linch advises Archenland."

"Yes," Lucy said. She reached across the table to clasp Edmund's hand. He accepted the touch for a moment then, with a studied movement, pulled away to fiddle with his morning tea. "It's a tangled tale that I know only some of."

"And I know even less," Susan said, taking for herself a larger helping of bread than she would normally. Her sister was aggravated with Edmund on several fronts, beginning with the affair Susan considered very ill-advised and ending with the disordered state of the Cair. Susan wanted to think she could absent herself for a month without everything going to the midden heap. So, as her wont, Susan would be expressing her displeasure with Edmund indirectly for a few days. Susan's little affronts were not going to help the situation. The two of them competing and baiting one another over real and imagined slights drove Lucy spare.

"We will need to hear more from Peter," Lucy said. "But, really, only Morgan can interpret the full of it and how much she says is in her judgment alone."

"She never gave a hint?" Susan asked quietly.

"Not a one." Edmund's laugh was rueful. "She could not. I see that."

_But do you understand? Can you accept? Do you admire her for this unexpected discretion? Or resent her? _

"Peter brought back documents for her as a personal favor to King Lune and a number of letters," Lucy told him. "I believe it includes the accountings for Archenland for the last year."

Edmund nodded, looking impressed it spite of himself. "It is a tradition, of a sort. The Bankers return to Narrowhaven at the end of autumn with the records for all their clients and Kingdoms. Once winter storms blow up and close the harbor, the Bankers lock themselves in their Houses doing the accountings for the previous year. They report the results at conclave when the weather breaks. It is the most significant time of the year for the Houses."

King Lune had said that was why he gave the financial doings of his Kingdom to Peter to convey to Morgan – because the Banker would need them for this annual accounting. This was surely a measure of the immense trust the good King placed in both Morgan and in Peter and Susan had even ceded to the truth of it.

Still, Lucy thought Edmund sounded odd about something that should have been a powerful testament to Morgan's credibility in the wider world. As a Director within Linch, there would have been no ambiguity – not between Edmund and Morgan. With autumn upon them, Morgan surely had planned to return to Narrowhaven for the shut in and conclave? Unless… Lucy looked again at the chair so closely situated next to Edmund's place and Jalur's narrow-eyed discontent. Had they blundered over some other plan?

"The High King," Lambert said.

Peter entered the Conservatory, shut the door and immediately went around the table to Edmund. There was a lot of back thumping and slapping that was roughly affectionate, hard enough to knock a man off his feet, and would break your hand if administered with that much force to someone in chain mail. _Men._

"Banker Morgan is sorting through some of the papers I brought to her from Archenland. She will join us shortly."

When Peter finally sat, he stared at his plate for a moment as if he had misplaced something. Lucy said nothing and gulped down the last of his roll. It was delicious.

"I must begin with two related apologies," Peter began. "First, Edmund and Susan, I was mad and ignorant to think you could unravel the mysteries of these Lone Islands laws by yourselves and within a mere ten days. I am very sorry to have put you through this."

Susan and Edmund both made the appropriately conciliatory noises. Susan would not let it stop there, of course.

"I will not say that these months have been easy," Susan said. "This is fiendishly complex and Edmund and I agree that greater comprehension is probably not possible without enormous effort we have neither the time nor inclination to expend."

"I see that now. And I do apologize. You both have succeeded so often and so well, we assume we can solve on our own every challenge as we have the ones before it."

"Spoilt by our own success?" Edmund said. "Perhaps we should try some abject failures next time to lower expectation."

It was amusing, but unthinkable, and no one laughed.

"And, Edmund, I sincerely apologize, above and beyond foisting the Code upon you."

"Whatever for, Peter?"

"You warned me of the Lone Island Banking Houses and that there were implications to Banker Morgan's connections to them."

Edmund went very still and cool.

"Be easy, Edmund," Lucy said softly. "We have heard nothing ill about Banker Morgan and her House and much that is good."

"At least from those whom we trust and respect," Peter amended. "I have had to do some fast thinking, Edmund, and have often wished you and Susan there, for this is a very deep business."

"Peter, might we begin at the beginning?" Susan injected. "Edmund has arrived at the end, I only the night before the end and we would all benefit from hearing you explain this to us all in full."

"For that, we will need Banker Morgan," Peter said.

"Should we not discuss this without her, first?" Edmund asked, and so casually Lucy wondered what the cost to him was to speak so.

"Fortunately, no," Peter replied, so kindly that Edmund scowled at him for the implication.

"Beehn, exercise those fast legs of yours and please bring Banker Morgan to us," Peter ordered.

The Cheetah griped as he climbed to his feet but, once moving, he was very swift. He pushed open the door, forgot to close it behind him, and sprang away, shouting at the top of his voice for Jina and Banker Morgan.

Peter rubbed his forehead in despair at the antics of his young Guard. More amusing still was the very superior air that Fooh began projecting. "Amateur," Fooh muttered.

They heard every shout as Beehn hollered for Banker Morgan and Jina throughout the lower floor of Cair. It mingled with the clanging from the kitchens.

Although there were still two partially eaten rolls on her plate, Susan removed the last roll from the warming basket, bit into that one as well, and put it on her own plate.

Lucy giggled. All the problems aside, it was good to be home.

From the hall, they could hear Jina snarl, "Shut it, Cub. You annoy! We heard you the first twenty times."

Beehn sprang back into the breakfast room so suddenly the other Guards started with snarls of their own.

"I found her High King!"

"Beehn?"

"Yes, High King?"

"Go to sleep. Please."

Morgan followed Beehn into the room, Jina by her side. The woman who returned gave an even stronger sense of the straighter, focused person who had so recently left. Morgan had changed out of her casual Narnian garb into a gown. While Peter paid no more attention to such things than any other man, Lucy could see the recognition in his expression.

Morgan wore green – the color of the House of the Linch. They had learned that each Banking House sported a color and its Bankers wore it when at Court and with customers and clients. Her green gown was the one Morgan had let the Crows unravel for Shinys to gamble. It looked a little frayed but Mrs. Furner had seen to its cleaning and repair.

She was also wearing a wooden painted pin with the Brown Bear of Archenland. The Bankers wore their House colors and sported badges, pins, and braids denoting the kingdoms, guilds, interests, and families they represented.

Morgan tucked the ledger she carried under her arm and as she turned to shut the door, Lucy could see she had removed the bow from her hair. Jina was also unadorned.

"Your Majesties," she murmured and took her seat at Edmund's right. Lucy saw Morgan's eyes flicker to the additional place setting that had not been there before. The Banker pushed her own tableware away and set her ledger down.

Lucy was disturbed to see how the distance between Morgan and Edmund had widened. She understood why there were so many secrets and, truly, Edmund was no more forthcoming than Morgan. Still, there were a large number of very large secrets. She was not sure if Edmund would feel betrayed, or admiring, of just how much Morgan had kept from him. It was likely, knowing her brother, some combination of both. She glanced again at Jalur – his ears were still pushed back and his eyes were narrow slits.

"You come as a representative of Archenland?" Peter asked.

"I can have no official presence here as to Narnia, Sir, without action by Linch as a whole. Lune requested it. I have discretion to place Archenland orders over House rules."

"We thank you for your flexibility." Peter leaned back in his chair and began so smoothly, Lucy knew he had been thinking of how to manage this for some time.

"For our present understanding, we have the Princess Peony to thank."

"Princess Even More Dim," Lucy added helpfully to nudge Edmund's memory. "And I'm afraid that was likely my fault. She was becoming very tiresome right before their departure and I told her that Morgan was attending me at the Telmar. And, I mentioned Linch. Unfortunately, she understood better than I what that meant. And when she arrived in Archenland…"

"The whole court learned that Narnia was hosting Banker Morgan, a Vice President and Associate Director within the House of Linch," Peter said. Lucy felt better when he added for her benefit, "Do not fret over it, Sister. It was innocently done, and no harm, and a great deal of good, came from it."

Lucy was unsure if that was truly the case. Once the rumors of Linch and Narnia began to circulate, some people had become very odd. Some were fawning, some were cool, many had pressed upon her, and she had heard a great many conflicting things about Morgan. She knew the truth of it, but it had been very unsettling.

"I see," Morgan muttered. "Yes, that makes sense." She withdrew her letter from King Lune and tapped it. "And that was when Lune approached you?"

Morgan did not even use the King of Archenland's title.

Peter nodded. "He congratulated Narnia for her acumen and expressed surprise that I had not bespoken him on the subject."

"I'm sure he was relieved as well."

"Why would that be?" Edmund asked. There was surly undercurrent he was hiding well. He and Susan usually competed to be the most informed person at their Councils. That Peter, Morgan, and even Lucy herself, knew more, was an additional irritant for both Susan and Edmund.

Morgan stared again at the letter, reviewing it under her fingertip.

"While Banker Morgan determines how much she may say, King Lune told me that before their marriage, his Queen had been trained at Linch in household accounting – something in which the House specializes." He nodded to Morgan. "When Queen Iris suspected embezzlement of the Archenland treasury, she brought in Linch, who swiftly identified Lord Bar."

Evidently satisfied from her review of her letter, Morgan added, "It was a very neat scheme. Bar created fake providers of goods and services to invoice Archenland then paid the false bills out of the treasury. Iris realized that there were monies going out, but nothing coming in. It was a classic Stanleh scheme."

"Stanleh?" Edmund repeated. "The Banking House of Stanleh was behind Lord Bar's embezzlement?"

"Of course," Morgan replied as Peter said, "It was never actually proven."

This part of the story was all new to Susan as well and Lucy had heard only the barest of it. These were such unhappy things for their friend, Lucy could not bear to have Lune speak of them. Nor were they for casual conversation in the Archenland court. That Lune willingly told Peter these things bespoke his desire to aid Narnia, even at personal pain to himself.

"Was Stanleh involved in Prince Cor's disappearance?" Susan asked.

"The belief is that Bar was in league with the Tisroc, but …" Peter was not able to finish.

"Stanleh threw Bar to the wolves…" Morgan said. "Oh, sorry," she added quickly as all the Canines growled. Edmund rubbed his eyes wearily with a _Morgan has done it again_ expression on his face. "Kidnapping is too uncivilized for Stanleh, though the money Bar raised for the ship and crew had to come from somewhere. The whole scheme seemed too inept for the Tisroc, too. I've always thought it was from someone lower down, maybe a wife trying to position her son, or one his advisors hoping to curry favor."

Peter set out his hands firmly on the table. "On this, King Lune and his Linch Bankers disagree and it was not a topic I would belabor with him out of deference to the pain it causes."

Morgan sat back in her chair, shrugging. Lucy could easily see the conflict. Morgan and her ilk would not want to rest until the last Crescent or Tree had been traced to its paying source. For Lune, his friend was a traitor, his wife dead, and his son gone. The experience had made Lune very, very guarded in his dealings and Peter was right to not press him. Nor was Lucy surprised that Lune, who was Peter's closest friend and advisor, had not broached the subject at all until the matter arose by rumor in his own Court.

"So with a better situational awareness of the politics of the banking syndicates, I answered an unexpected, but very cordial, invitation of the Tisroc and went on to Calormen," Peter said.

Morgan made a humph sound under her breath. "Rumors of Narnia entertaining Linch were already circulating in Calormen?"

"Lune warned me, of course, but even with that and Edmund's own cautions, I was not prepared for such a reception. I could not turn about without stepping upon a representative of Sterns or Stanleh, who most earnestly entreated Narnia to reconsider retaining Linch. Which, of course, had not even entered my mind until they began entreating me not to do so."

"It was not pleasant at all," Fooh said. "My fur did not lie flat the whole time we were there. They were very bad men and women."

Lucy smiled at the Cheetah. Calormen was his first real foreign visit and Fooh had done quite well. He was developing a good sense for reading Humans' masked intentions and Calormen was a good place for him to learn the skill.

"Indeed. They had heard that Narnia was turning her attention to the inequities of the Lone Island tax code. They assumed Linch was involved, and they wooed me very persistently and in a very grand fashion to dissuade me from that course."

"You're being too polite, Sir," Morgan injected as she paged through her ledger. Edmund was trying to sneak looks at it. "Sterns would pay a fortune to acquire Narnia as a client; Stanleh would pay even more to make sure the Code stays just the way it is."

"They bribed you," Susan said, and there was harsh censure behind her deceptively mild tone.

"They attempted to do so, certainly," Peter said. "It is how they do business and it is so commonplace, they were surprised when I took offense."

"And the Tisroc? The Grand Vizier?" Edmund asked, speaking to Peter, but looking at Morgan's ledger. "What role did they play in all this?"

"More subtle than their Stanleh Bankers. They were more respecting and accommodating of the wild Barbarian King of the North than I had ever before experienced."

Morgan tried blocking Edmund's view of her ledger with her arm and her sleeve ended up in his uneaten breakfast.

"They were worried," Fooh said. "Everyone was worried. And surprised."

Through a yawn, Beehn added, "It was exhausting."

Susan had been listening intently, "I had a similar experience with the Seven Isles merchant who docked here and I do not believe he knew we were entertaining a Linch banker, though he likely made inquiries thereafter. I believe many assume Narnia is strong and protected by magic, but innocent, unstable, and even stupid."

"And all this change and attentiveness because of Linch's supposed involvement?" Edmund asked, craning his neck over Morgan's shoulder.

With that, Morgan pulled the ledger on to her lap glaring at Edmund; he had to swiftly grab her tea cup to keep it from toppling onto the floor.

"In one. It became very awkward," Peter continued. "I did not want to give the impression of a relationship with Linch that was not present."

He nodded in Morgan's direction and they all politely ignored the relationship that was present. Susan's jaw tightened further.

"I was coming to understand why you were here unofficially, Banker Morgan. Your House's presence in a foreign Court was very significant in these circles and a formal relationship between Banking House and the Court was of greater import still."

She nodded. "I explained this to…" stammer, stop, "King Edmund."

"In substance, though not particulars," Edmund said, in a mild tone that made Lucy cringe.

Into the awkward pause that followed, Peter smoothly went on. "I explained to Sterns, Stanleh, and everyone else that Narnia had never needed the merchant houses before, we were not courting one now, and if we began seeking such advice, it was our business alone. The concerns regarding equitable laws in our sovereign territory were also our own, we would move with due respect to existing settled expectation, but would proceed with what was in our judgment best for all of Narnia's subjects."

"Well spoken," Susan murmured.

"But completely ineffective," Peter replied ruefully. "Sterns and Stanleh redoubled their efforts, they were persistent and…"

"Made our hair stand on end," Fooh said. "I got hoarse from all the growling."

"Beehn could not even nap!" Peter added.

"Whaaa?" Beehn mumbled through a snore.

"I apologize for disturbing your rest, my Guard."

Beehn was too deeply asleep to notice his Monarch's light sarcasm. Peter shook his head and sighed. "Susan and Edmund, thank you also for anticipating another concern that arose – from where all this wealth is coming and where it is going. I heard it whispered in Calormen that Sterns, Stanleh, or both, are funding enterprises that pose a threat to Narnia."

"Such as?" Edmund asked.

"Foundries and smithies specializing in weaponry," Peter said grimly. "Breeders and trainers of war horses. Builders who design siege engines and ships of war."

Susan tapped her tea saucer with a finger tip. "Peter, of the many things that concern me, one of the most persistent is the role of our Governor in the Lone Islands. We have not been derelict, yet, has Florian deceived us? For ten years?"

"No, of course not," Morgan spoke so dismissively the Guards growled. "Governor Florian is fine. He's an Islander and is smart enough to leave everything exactly as it has been for hundreds of years. He collects the tributes for the Crown each year, which everyone happily pays as cost to appease Narnia and be left alone, and lets the Islands run themselves."

Susan's reply was gentle but firm. "And if you are a Calormene or from the Islands, all wealth and advantage tilt in your favor, but if you are identified as a Narnian…"

"It doesn't," Morgan interrupted.

Susan ignored the interruption and Lucy could see her sister's irritation rise. "As I explained to you, Peter, under the Lone Island laws, Narnians are subtly singled out for harsher treatment. Narnians pay higher taxes and fees, are limited in how they conduct their affairs, and are marginalized under the governing bodies. It was developed to be punitive as to sympathizers of Jadis, but now it punishes our subjects."

Susan's voice was calm but beneath, she was very, very angry. Edmund was more measured in those things that touched upon the Province of the Just, and as a consequence, slower to judgment. Susan, however, had no tolerance whatsoever for intolerance and prejudice.

"So, in sum, you all now know what I do," Peter said, ticking the elements off one by one on his fingers. He was now drawing them together for a discussion of options, though Lucy knew Peter had already decided on the course he wished to follow and it was incumbent upon everyone else to come with something better and convince him of it. "The Bankers, Islanders, Calormenes, and others, including it should be said many honest folk simply making their way in a hard world, rely upon this unfair system. Narnians are denied access to these same opportunities, and further we think it likely that some of these interests are funding enterprises who would do us harm. Banker Morgan, is that an accurate assessment?"

"No, Sir."

"No?"

"I mean, yes, Sir. I told Sallowpad much the same and …" Morgan stammered then finished, "King Edmund."

Lucy was beginning to feel a trifle irritated with her siblings that Morgan's own honest, if roundabout, contributions were not being acknowledged. If she had been sly in the manner of the Bankers Peter had seen in Calormen, it might have gone very ill. "Morgan, why did you decide to deal with Narnia openly and warn us of these things?"

"Linch supports Archenland, so I couldn't do anything adverse." The way Morgan stated it was the verbal equivalent of an eye rolling, _of course, you dim wit_.

"Well, yes, and if good for Archenland, good for Narnia" Lucy said slowly, understanding Morgan's position, but not why it was relevant to her question. "But beyond that?"

"There was also a real sophistication coming from Narnia in the last few years." Morgan glanced at Edmund, but he did not acknowledge her compliment. "So, sooner or later, you would understand what was going on. So I got in ahead of it. And…" Morgan threw up her hands – Edmund caught the writing lead that would have flown out of them and handed it back to her.

She muttered her thanks and let out a breath. "And it was just stupid, really."

"Stupid?" Lucy repeated, wishing that Morgan would speak of things other than what was profitable and sensible.

"Narnia was doing good things! It was growing, and building, and making things people would want! It just didn't make sense to do anything but be part of it!"

"Thank you for that, Morgan," Lucy said and pressed on. She was close and while Edmund might understand how Morgan thought, she could sense that Susan was concerned – even Lambert's posture was stiff. They needed clarity here that Morgan and her House were not the vipers Peter had been dodging in Calormen – that Morgan was doing the honest thing for the right reasons. "Did it not seem to you that dealing honestly with us was the principled thing to do?"

The pause that followed was really too long. Lucy was certain that Morgan had a clear moral compass, even if the Banker was unclear as to why except in this peculiar calculation of wealth and gain.

"Well, yes," Morgan finally said. "I suppose."

Peter glanced at her and Lucy saw that her brother understood what she was attempting to accomplish. "The Zalindreh silk merchant scandal was very much discussed with me, Banker Morgan."

She scowled. "I'm sure it was, with nothing good to be said of Linch, or me."

"As I understand the matter, you realized that the guild was stealing from its Terebinthian investors and exposed them?"

"It's called a pyramid. They were collecting money and paying off the early investors with the monies paid by the later investors. All they were doing was churning money and…"

Peter held up a hand, interrupting what was certain to be a long-winded, technical explanation. "Yes, I understand. The principles are plain enough. But, why did you expose the scheme? The argument I heard put forth in Calormen was that the investors should have understood what they were buying into. There were disclosures of the risks and…"

Morgan slammed her hand down on the table. Edmund and Susan both put hands out to steady the cups that started rattling. "That's ridiculous!" she spat out.

All the Guards growled and only Peter's bemused calm kept everyone in their seats. "Why yes, Banker Morgan, I thought so as well. Why do you object to such defenses of this scheme?"

Morgan's voice rose in anger and scorn. "Because those Terebinthians had no idea what they were getting into! They were poor! They couldn't read what was put in front of them! They didn't understand what they were giving away! Stanleh was sure to protect themselves, with all those disclaimers. But, they didn't…"

"Thank you, Banker Morgan," Peter interrupted what sounded to become a true ranting tirade of outrage. "I believe what you are saying is that what was done to the Terbinthians was wrong and offended your sense of morality and fairness?"

"Yes! It…"

"We understand, Banker Morgan. Your response satisfies us."

Lucy flashed her clever brother a smile of appreciation, admiring how well he managed Morgan and the lingering concerns at their Council. She suspected King Lune had provided some tutoring as well. Confirming the guess, Morgan glared suspiciously at Narnia's High King. "You've been talking to Lune, haven't you, Sir?"

"Our greatest ally holds you and your House in very high regard, Banker Morgan."

"Oh."

"So, these are the facts," Peter concluded into the silence that followed. "Now, we must discuss what must be done."

"There is one solution whose ease is tempting," Edmund said quietly.

"What is that?"

"Sail into Narrowhaven with a few Army units and a Gryphon Wing, put Florian and every Sterns and Stanleh Banker in leg irons for a few years, upend some tables, scatter coins among the poor, confiscate property and use it to pay restitution to injured Narnians, revoke every law of the Islands, reinstate the equitable rule of Narnian law, and appoint a loyal Narnian as Governor."

Edmund leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his front. "I believe that would solve the many problems nicely. Have I omitted anything?"

Morgan was horrified. "You can't do that!"

Lucy caught her breath and the stinging retort came a breath later.

"Do not tell a Narnian sovereign what he or she cannot do, Banker Morgan," Edmund snapped. "We most certainly can do so. Such action is well within Our Province and thoroughly justified for all the aforementioned reasons."

"Edmund!" Susan retorted. "Now who is being ridiculous!"

"Do you dispute anything I said, Sister? Do you question our authority, or our need to act against this threat to us and our subjects? This is our right and my Province."

It was, Lucy realized, so very like their conversation in the spring, involving Edmund's proposed corset ban. Which was silly, in a way, but also was not at all.

And this, she knew, was her Province and why it had been necessary for her to remain and participate here. "Of course we may act so," Lucy injected before Susan could snap in return and begin an argument with Edmund that really not about martial acts in their sovereign territory at all. The earlier briefing between her brother and sister had plainly been very difficult and the unresolved tensions of it were surfacing here. "But, we also have the collective wisdom to know that is not how we deal with our subjects. We may gain their obedience, temporarily, but we lose their hearts forever."

"Thank you, Lucy," Peter said firmly, though his look was directed at Edmund and Susan. "I agree. We all do, of course."

Peter seldom spoke on behalf of all of them, but there was no disagreement on this fundamental point. Edmund had not seriously proposed martial action except to bait Morgan and Susan. It was also an effective reminder to them all of both the extent of their power and its limits. They knew fires and rocks dropped from great heights and swords, arrows, teeth, and claws were not the solution here. The experiences with Jadis' remnants had taught them that – painfully. They needed to understand this culture that was as foreign to a Narnian as Calormen or Ettinsmoor. And then, they needed to change a way of doing things that had existed for a hundred years or more.

Speaking that aloud, Peter continued building toward consensus. "Do we agree we have reached the limits of our abilities here?"

"Too much is occurring of which we are ignorant," Susan said, with a cool look at Edmund. Susan probably blamed him both for the intelligence lapse and for precipitating this by beginning an affair with a Lone Island Banker. She was also angry with Peter for setting her to the task of the Code all summer, only now acknowledged to have been an impossible task. "I fear that we are not knowledgeable enough about the situation to act wisely. We have sent Rats and that will help, but that is not enough."

"You are correct, Susan. Thank you for stating it so precisely." Peter was soothing their sister's ruffled pique. "I, too, believe we need to go to Narrowhaven, and not to Florian as we have in the past. Do any of us really question that?"

Lucy had already told Peter her opinion. Susan nodded her head. "I agree.

"Edmund?" Peter asked.

"Banker Morgan and I have already discussed it," he replied. "The problem has been who to send. We could not send a Talking Beast, so it would have to be one of us."

"Banker Morgan, I understand your House accepts apprentices for training?" Peter asked. "Would you sponsor a Narnian into that position?"

"Of course, Sir." She paused, searching for words, speaking carefully. "To King Edmund, I have already recommended him or Queen Susan. But…"

"Yes?"

"A Monarch in training would be very unusual. Unprecedented. And pointless. You might as well just pay a state visit to Florian, hear lots of speeches, and visit the port."

"We do not disagree, Banker Morgan. One of us needs to go to the Lone Islands, but as student and spy, and not as Monarch."

"In disguise," Susan said.

* * *

Peter waited, watching through the Conservatory window a Songbird pair in a Maple that was just beginning to colour. He wondered if it was one of the pairs he had scolded in the spring – he did not think so. This pair, like so many others of Narnia, had courted, mated, raised young and would now break their temporary bond of the spring and summer and migrate to warmer Southern climes for the winter. Some pairs would separate and rejoin in the spring. Some of Narnia's Beasts formed no bond at all; the female had mated and raised the children herself. Some would stay with their mother several seasons; those that were quicker to mature would be setting off on their own about now. A few, though not many, had the stable bond that would endure season after season. The bonded pairs would be laying in for the winter.

"Fooh?" he finally asked, prompting his young Guard. There was no point with Beehn – he had been snoring since the exertion of fetching Banker Morgan.

"The Queens' Guards are away, High King," Jalur said. "Jina as well."

Fooh growled to have been usurped. He would be quicker next time.

Edmund poured the last of the tea into his cup and swirled the cold dregs. "To end this before you embarrass both of us, it is fine, Peter." He gulped the tea down without a grimace then finished off Morgan's half-full cup as well.

Peter stood and crossed the chamber to Edmund's side. These were conversations he had had with Susan. Never with Edmund. "Fine?" he repeated.

"Yes."

"So we should be preparing to announce a betrothal?"

Edmund started, shocked, and Morgan's cup slide from his hand to the table. He quickly righted it. "Whose?"

Peter managed to control his eye rolling disgust, reminding himself that Edmund's emotional intelligence had never been as developed as other aspects of his formidable intellect. "Yours, of course."

The look of utter disbelief could not have been feigned. "No, of course not. It is not like that at all."

"It is not?"

"No."

This was at odds with the discreet reports he had received through Susan, who had been kept well-apprised of what had occurred these last weeks. Edmund and Morgan had been sharing rooms, company, and plate for weeks. He had just seen his brother drink from Morgan's tea cup.

At breakfast and during the council, there was a choreographed dance between them. There was intimate familiarity in their covert glances, in how Edmund moved her cup, and caught her writing lead, and in how Morgan expressed her admiration.

There was tension now as well – that was inevitable. But, by all accounts, there was always tension between them. Peter had thought both Edmund and Morgan honest enough to recognize that each could not fault the other when guilty of the same omissions and silence. Once Edmund overcame his irritation at being excluded, he would approve of Morgan's discretion. While Peter was, to his continuing and bitter regret, no expert at all, and a wretched role model, he had thought any difficulties from the morning's disclosures would be overcome by the strong bond that had grown between Edmund and Morgan – a bond that were it between anyone other Edmund and Morgan, he would have characterized as love.

The congratulatory embrace and heartfelt words Peter had been (enjoying) rehearsing in his head he now tossed out the window. He had thought that one reason for Edmund to go to the Lone Islands was to meet Morgan's family, even if under disguised circumstances.

"What of Morgan's expectations? Are you certain she has the same understanding?"

"Of course. She has less tolerance for ambiguity than I." Edmund hesitated and there was a brief scowl that he pushed away. "And, well, I suppose it does not matter anymore. It is not relevant."

"What is irrelevant?"

"Nothing. A whim."

"Something whimsical? Regarding you? And Banker Morgan? Two individuals with no tolerance for ambiguity who are, nevertheless, whimsical?" Peter did not believe it for a moment.

Edmund shook his head, brushing Peter's words away with an impatient gesture. "Morgan was going to make her arrangements to depart. Her House expects her return."

"And?"

"We discussed yesterday that she might stay longer, here. But, now, instead, we both are traveling there. So, you see, not relevant."

Yes, he supposed that was true. Yet, there a great deal more Edmund was not saying. Something had occurred between the two of them and the voyage and difficult task ahead were not what either had contemplated.

"Edmund, I am sorry."

"There is no need for that, Peter." And for a moment, Edmund sounded more like himself. "The summer is over. It is back to work now, back to school."

Back to school?

The words sounded so strange.

Edmund frowned as well, repeating the unused words. "Back to school? Where did that come from?"

It was like a dream, or even a dream within a deeper memory. From the time before Narnia, when it was dangerous, hard, and sad. "In the autumn, we would all go to school after the …" Peter stumbled over the words, long unused.

"We returned to school after the hols, the summer holiday," Edmund finished. "It will be like that, I suppose."

Edmund pushed away from the table. "I should speak to Morgan about all of this. Will you take care of arranging our passage? Nothing too fancy, nor too rough. It is a long time at sea, and we will need to be there before winter locks us in."

"Of course." Peter wondered whether one cabin or two, and decided to arrange for two, even if they only used one. There was also the question of a Guard. Jalur was not going to be able to travel to the Lone Islands with his King and the Tiger was going to very, very unhappy about that.

Edmund sauntered from the room, leaving Peter feeling vaguely dissatisfied with the whole of the exchange. It was only later, after Edmund and Morgan had departed, and Jalur was sulking about Cair, when Peter recalled that returning to "school" after the "hols" had been an unpleasant and unhappy time. There was a great deal of tedious and difficult work, you were away from your family, in a strange place with terrible food, and while some of the people were pleasant, a great many of them were beastly.

* * *

And here ends, Year 1 of Harold and Morgan Not a Romance. Sometimes, the adventure is in how you get there.

The chapter is very talky. I went back after posting and cut 3,000 words, and for a time, made the longer version available only on my Livejournal. However, the longer version goes to issues of sovereign use of power and Morgan's moral compass, and so I put it all back in.

In other news, be sure to check out the 40 Days of Fic, the Narnia Fic Exchange, now in full swing through October, with a new story every night. I have two stories in the Exchange that, once the writers are revealed, I'll probably post over here. There are lots of great writers and really unique work. Links to the Exchange are in my Live Journal.

If you are still here, I'd love to hear from you! This story is dying a very sudden and dramatic death and I am listening to what readers say and don't say and adjusting to accommodate.


	6. Chapter 6 A Hoard of Bankers, Part 1

Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance  
Chapter 6, A Hoard of Bankers, Part 1

In which Harold the Clerk arrives in Narrowhaven and receives no royal welcome. Filing a few days after the US Tax Day of April 15, 2011

* * *

I'd intended to let this story die for it became apparent in chapter 4 that there was a lack of reader interest in the form of feedback and reviews. However, a few hardy souls hung on. Reader E wanted a specific, Morgan-related birthday fic, Anastigmat asked for something as well and gifted me with pic fic, and thus began something that I could not seem to stop. Readers here and there popped up to ask if I would please continue. They have a pretty good idea of how Edmund and Morgan end, but as Therck said, she wants to know how they get there. So here we are. I have _a lot_ more of this written and will likely try to complete it before returning to Apostolic Way.

I am hugely and immensely grateful to the readers who have communicated with me about this story through this site and in comments to the snatches and glimpses that have appeared on my Livejournal. Thank you, and you should thank each other for without you, I would not have had the courage to continue this.

* * *

Docking at Narrowhaven was more peculiar than Edmund had expected. No royal greeting, no dignitaries, no fanfares, no Guard, no waving subjects. From the deck, he could see the Governor's House at the far end of the Harbour. Without a visiting Monarch, the House was silent; Governor Florian was nowhere to be seen. A whole different set of protocols applied when one was the lowly clerk trainee instead of the reluctantly acknowledged ruling Monarch.

To complete the deception, they had traveled first to Archenland and sailed under the colours of the Great Bear. As the ship rowed into port, the Captain ran, not the Lion of Narnia and Edmund's own banners, but a plain, green pennant – the colour of the House of Linch. Assistant Director Morgan of Linch was returning home.

For all that a brisk, cold wind was blowing in from the north, the docks were thronging with bundled up people. _So many people_. It was sensation he and his siblings always felt when leaving Narnia – the strangeness of being in a majority again. He pulled the Archenland cloak more tightly about him and dutifully followed Morgan down the ship's gangplank, juggling three of her many satchels stuffed with accounting ledgers. He was relieved to see a cluster of men, all with green shoulder knots, courteously murmur greetings to Morgan and swarm into the ship. They were Linch retainers and would see to the remainder of the luggage.

He did recall the caution Susan had learned of, late, that a visiting Monarch should not wear red, blue, yellow, or green to avoid indicating a preference for one banking house over another. Yet, no one had thought to explain that the shoulder knots, braids, and badges denoted the Bankers, their retainers, and their relative status within the Banking Houses. He wondered who the Houses had paid to keep their Monarchs so ignorant of custom, or if they simply had thought there was no need. Something as ordinary and as old as the Sun rising needed no explanation.

On flag poles and mastheads, Edmund spied a group of Crows so large that, to the untrained eye, they would be Ravens. They were silent and watching. He, quietly, awarded them the two-fingered salute and saw them bob their heads. Sallowpad was about somewhere as well. The Chief of the Murder had decided to accompany them and would fly ahead to the House of Linch.

"Morgan!" a voice called.

"Pierce!"

A young man, about Edmund's own age, pushed through the crowd and threw his arms around Morgan. On the basis of the physical similarity and dark green robe alone, Edmund would have known that Pierce was Morgan's younger brother.

"It's about time you returned!" Pierce pulled back and looked his sister up and down. "Narnia has agreed with you!"

"Missed you, too!" Morgan exclaimed, looking around. "Anyone else come?"

"If by anyone else you mean the Director, no. He has been commanding the winds to bring you home sooner, and has been very irritated that they did not comply."

Pierce now turned his attention to Edmund and his eyes moved over the cloak Edmund wore. He nodded politely. "Linch always welcomes Archenland, Sir."

"Pierce, this is Harold of Abdon, Winding Arrow," Morgan said, repeating the cover they had agreed upon. "He's my clerk for the Winter. He's here for training."

Edmund had to put down the satchels so that they could shake hands – Morgan had said that was how he should greet other Bankers and it was strange to do again something he remembered more commonly from that other place from where he had come. "Assistant Director Pierce, the pleasure is mine."

Pierce looked down and took in the third member of their party. "Morgan, you brought a pet dog home?"

Jina, to her considerable credit, said nothing, though Edmund could see her lip curl.

"I don't think she likes me," Pierce said, putting his hand out for Jina to sniff, which she did not deign to do.

Morgan nudged her brother. "Be polite. This is Jina and she's a very good friend of mine."

Pierce looked puzzled. "Are you being odd, again?"

"Perhaps we can discuss it privately?" Edmund injected.

"Excellent idea," Pierce replied, agreeing so readily he was obviously well accustomed to Morgan's verbal habits. He helpfully relieved Edmund of one of the bulging satchels.

It took Edmund aback to realize that he was not to be walking in front. He really was going to have to become used to the absence of royal prerogative. He had never thought of himself as an especially stuffy person – Jalur was more concerned with his dignity than he was - yet he had been conscious of and always expected some deference. Now, he was the one doing the deferring. He took a place a few paces behind Morgan and Pierce, as designated bag carrier and clerk. Jina fell in step next to him. He kept a close eye on the Hound's mannerisms but, while Jina was alert, she did not appear concerned. He saw Crows winging overhead toward the Upper Town and the Bankers Alley.

Narrowhaven otherwise looked very much as it always had, though a bit dirtier and a lot busier. When her Monarchs made state visits, the port city obviously put on a different face. The thick sandstone walls had not been scrubbed clean, the flowers in the window boxes were browning in the Autumn chill, and there was a smoky haze from the open braziers. They stepped around refuse and dung, and made their way by the pubs, taverns, inns, tradesmen, and shops that were doing a brisk business. Even so, it was not seedy or unpleasant precisely, as were Calormene port cities or even what he had seen in the docklands of the Seven Isles and Terebinthia. Narrowhaven was very prosperous by comparison – even the street urchins seemed well fed. He noticed, for the first time, that the shops and hawkers all advertised prices in Calormene crescents, not Narnia coin. Any goods not from the Lone Islands were Calormene.

Edmund could not recall if he had ever noticed this before, and wondered if this was another aspect of Narrowhaven that had been scrubbed clean in advance of a Monarch's visit. Even if he had noticed it before, only now did he fully appreciate the significance of this subtle discrimination against Narnia and why it was the way it was. There were no Narnians that he saw; no Narnian dress, no Narnian food, no Narnian signage or money or products. It was all Calormene.

At the foot of the winding Silver Stair, Edmund paused and adjusted the satchels. He was perversely glad for Leszi's brutal training as his shoulders did not ache, yet. Morgan and Pierce were already making the long climb to the Upper Town. Jina looked at him. "I'm fine," he told her quietly.

Jina suddenly turned her head toward one of the bushes lining the stairs carved into the cliffside. Edmund saw her nose quiver and then Jina swiftly trotted over to the bush, tail wagging, and thrust her head inside the branches.

He waited and watched and thought he heard muffled voices.

"Morgan!" Pierce cried. "Call your dog!"

"Stop being stupid!" Morgan snapped.

Jina withdrew her head, gave herself a shake, and trotted back, tail thumping against her sides happily.

"She must have smelled a Rat," Edmund said to Morgan.

Morgan grinned.

They slowly climbed the long Silver Stair and, when they emerged, it was on to the very quiet, very clean, Bankers Alley of the Narrowhaven Upper Town.

It, of course, had no resemblance to an alley at all. Yet, there was also nothing that suggested wealth or ostentation, either. This was not an inner circle of Tashbaan with the private palaces of the Tarkaan lords. The colour coding and insignias were the only clue to who dwelt here. On one full street of sunwashed sandstone, the buildings on both sides had bright red shutters, thick, heavy doors painted red, and wilting red flowers in the boxes – all of the House of Stanleh. Here and there, in tiles, statues, wrought iron work, and icon paintings, was the red flower that denoted Stanleh. On the cross street, facing each other were buildings that were smaller than the Stanleh complex but similar in size to one another; there were blue shutters and doors on one side and the same things, though painted yellow, on the other. They were decorated with the blue wave of Meryl and the yellow sun of Sterns. At the end of the second street stood a block of buildings nearly equal in size to Stanleh; all had green shutters and doors, and the adornments of the tree of Linch. Black Crows roosted on the roofs of all the Houses.

There were fewer people but, still, more than Edmund had seen since his last visit to Archenland. As compared to the tradesmen, dock workers and sailors of the Lower Town, the people of the Upper Town were quieter and better dressed. All ages and both sexes were represented, and in a style that felt very Narnian, the Human women were not veiled, escorted, guarded, or otherwise hindered or hobbled in any way. It was subtle but notable how different the norms of Narnia were in this regard from some other places in the wider World. Edmund wondered if this relative sexual equality was evidence in her Lone Islands protectorate of a subtle Narnian legacy of ruling Queens and Jadis.

Many stopped to greet Pierce and welcome Morgan home, by name and title. The shoulder knots and colours of the other three houses were all in evidence and all paid their respects to the Linch Bankers.

The odd feeling returned. Usually, he could not go anywhere without being greeted and queried just as Morgan and Pierce were. The Bankers were Lone Islands royalty of a sort, and he was their bag carrier. Rather like a dumb horse. He had to shove his ego aside and wait politely for there were benefits to his anonymity. He had not expected he would feel this way and it would simply take some adjustment on his part.

As these different groups of Bankers approached, Edmund watched for Jina's reaction, but the Hound was complacent. He was going to have to derive a name – a Murder of Crows, a Mischief of Rats, a Romp of Otters – what was appropriate for Bankers? A Swamp of Bankers? A Wicked of Bankers? A Ledger of Bankers? A Scum?

_A Hoard?_

Everyone tensed when a (he decided on _Hoard_) of Bankers stopped them between the red doors of Stanleh; they all wore robes, gowns, and knots in the color of that House. The tension was to be expected. Morgan certainly disliked the House of Stanleh on principle and Peter had reported that he and his Cheetah Guard had found the Bankers unpleasantly aggressive and very forcefully inquisitive. He noted also that as the Stanleh bankers approached Morgan and Pierce, Sallowpad flapped closer and settled on a cornice right above them. As a Narnian, he could see that the Bird was listening to every word. The Lone Islanders paid the attentive Raven no mind at all.

A woman elbowed her way past three Stanleh Bankers making their courtesies. "AD Morgan! Welcome home! Good morning, Pierce!"

She was a handsome woman, maybe Peter's age, and carried herself with the same authority Morgan did when in full, Evil Banker mode, but she was far more adroit at it.

She thrust out her hand. "AD Maeve Stanleh. Welcome to Narrowhaven…" she paused meaningfully.

Edmund shook her hand, surprised at the firmness of her grip. "Harold of Abdon, Winding Arrow."

"Of Archenland, yes," Maeve replied. "Excellent wheat in the Winding Arrow basin. Did the rains give you all any trouble getting it in this harvest?"

"A day or two. Nothing serious at all." Edmund answered, very glad he had studied it. "They were still counting the bushels when we departed." Susan would have been very much at home here, he suddenly realized with a pang of homesickness. These were, unapologetically, women of substance. His sister would thrive on the challenges here.

"And Morgan! What of Narnia? Everyone is anxious to hear of the Code revisions! Are you working on them? High King Peter was very tight lipped about it all in Tashbaan this summer. That's why you were in Narnia, isn't it?"

Edmund glanced down at Jina; the Hound's hair was standing straight up.

There was an anxious expectancy in the air. Edmund felt a swell of sympathy for Morgan as she stood there on the street, mouth opening and closing in the face of this daunting audience and persistent questioner. This was just the sort of situation that was the very worst for her. "I…no…" Morgan stammered.

"No, you are not working on the Code?" Maeve pressed. "Surely the Narnians aren't trying to manage it themselves as was rumored earlier in the year! That would be a disaster."

Everyone nodded and exclaimed their agreement at Maeve's pronouncement.

Edmund desperately wanted to inject something and bring them all down a peg or five, but this was not his place and he did not want to draw anyone's attention to the fact that a Narnian Monarch was standing right there in the street with him having his competency questioned.

"Maeve, really, we are all anxious about the revisions, but is now the time and," Pierce began, just as Jina took a step forward and pressed her nose into Morgan's side.

"I've not even seen my Director in months, Maeve!" Morgan blurted out the words, but she was every bit as firm as Maeve. "Even if Narnia wanted to retain Linch for the Code, or anything else, you know it requires action of the full House, and conflict waivers, and I just got off the boat. It's all premature and only a fool thinks otherwise."

"Well why didn't you say so?" Maeve said with a laugh. "You are so droll, Morgan. It is lovely to have you back among us in civilization again. We must have dinner soon and get caught up."

The Hoard of Stanleh Bankers made their farewells and, following in Maeve's wake, crossed the street and continued on their way. Edmund saw that Jina's hair was still stiff and high; the Hound was warily tracking the Hoard. Without even waiting for a signal, Sallowpad flew off to follow them.

One, however, tarried. "Sorry about that. You know how Maeve is when an idea grabs her." He put out his hand. "AD Seth Stanleh."

Edmund returned the hand clasp that was not as wincing as Maeve's had been. "Harold of Abdon, Winding Arrow."

"So my sister determined," Seth replied. Edmund could see the family resemblance, though the brother was older, shorter, and stouter than his sister. "I'll leave off with further interrogation." He turned to Morgan. "How was Narnia? Did you have a pleasant trip?"

Morgan nodded. "It's beautiful. Pollen's dreadful, though."

"Pollen?" Seth asked, frowning.

"In Spring, when the Trees pollinated. And since a lot of the Trees are Dryads, it makes it a lot worse. They move around and pollinate everything."

"Dryads," Seth mused.

"So the Trees really walk and talk?" Pierce asked.

Morgan nodded again. "And so do the Beasts. Birds, too. Except they don't walk. They fly."

Edmund had heard Morgan speak so for months; it still pained him to hear how difficult it was for her in a group or with people who made her nervous. With Jina helping her, she had improved, but it seemed she had regressed and was now as awkward as before.

"I remember seeing the High King and one of the Queens when they visited a few years ago. It was all like something straight out of a storybook," Pierce said.

"Or the sorts of propaganda the White Witch put about," Seth added more grimly. "By the by, Morgan, did you learn anything more about who in Narnia is responsible for the work product we are seeing? I saw another one, a request for a proposal, directed to a Calormene mining operation, and I can tell you no tree wrote that RFP."

Edmund knew precisely what the Stanleh banker was referring to and was secretly very pleased. Morgan had made some too-honest-to-be-polite-suggestions, but the bulk of the work on the RFP was his.

"Are you trying to nicely get what Maeve didn't?" Pierce put in when Morgan was still trying to come up with a response.

Seth laughed. "Sorry. It's been the burning question here this summer, especially after we and Sterns went chasing after the High King's business this summer. Lot of good that did. He is young, but the man's as immovable as a Tashbaan Tomb."

Edmund could not restrain himself. He snorted.

Seth immediately followed up. These people were not fools. "You know of what I speak of?"

"I know of High King Peter's reputation," Edmund replied. That was truthful enough.

"I had thought he'd be all about armor and conquest, wild Barbarian of the North and all that," Seth said. "He's more clever than I expected and he goes around with these big Cheetahs who are always growling at you. I found his title 'the Magnificent,' not quite so silly."

"I need to go," Morgan muttered. "The Director's waiting."

"I apologize for keeping you, so by all means." Seth gestured broadly so that they could move by him along the walk. "Pierce, I've got a date with Alan Meryl for a match tomorrow morning. You want to join us?"

"Certainly. Who's your fourth?"

"Harold, do you play handball?"

Edmund experienced a profound moment of disorientation when he realized that what he had thought was swordplay or some other training was, in fact, _sport_. _Leisure sport_.

"If you do not mind a student, I should like to learn."

Edmund had the sense of the same blunt appraisal he received from his swordmaster, Sir Hairy the Horrid, right before a vicious trouncing. Edmund's competitive instincts surged to the fore. Seth Stanleh enjoyed winning; Edmund did as well.

"Excellent. Tomorrow morning, then." The Banker turned, crossed the street, and followed after his Hoard.

Morgan let out a deep breath. "Seth's not bad, but Maeve's just the worst."

Pierce patted Morgan's arm. "I know. It's always been like that. You answered her very well."

Morgan smiled a little and her hand dropped down to her side so that Jina nuzzled it. "Thanks, Jina."

"Why are you thanking the dog?" Pierce asked.

Morgan shook her head and her braid bounced about on her shoulders. Edmund had plaited it for her only that morning in their cabin. "If we don't get to the House, the Director will assign me the Terebinithian Guilds' financials for the season."

"Which you will delegate to Harold," Pierce said.

"True," Morgan replied.

Edmund did not think this was a joke and it sounded ghastly.

As they walked to the House, Edmund saw that they really were Houses. These were not offices or storefronts, but homes with laundry hanging on lines and foodstuffs delivered at the servants' entrances, and the sounds of children's voices coming over the walls. Morgan had said that the buildings kept large, extended families that spilled out into the surrounding areas of the Upper Town. Entering Linch was not at all like entering a palace, or a castle, or a guest house, or keep. It was more like entering a Rabbit Warren.

Linch House proper was really a very large, private home. And it would be his home through the long, cold Winter, until the winds changed and ships could sail into the harbour again. They would shut themselves in with the accounting records of kingdoms and enterprises and not come out again until Spring.

A green door was thrown open and a score of people milled about welcoming Morgan home. Several people said that the Director had been expecting her all morning and there was some eyerolling at the sounds of a persistent bell ringing, which was apparently the summons. Obviously, Morgan was to ascend the stair to see the Director; the Director did not come downstairs to see Morgan. The Professor, whoever she was, was busy with students and would see Morgan later.

The inside of the House was cool stone and warm wood and simple, elegant furnishings and handicrafts. He did not have the eye for this sort of thing as Susan did, but Edmund could see a Calormene influence in the burnished copper, low seating, citrus scents, and in how it was built around a courtyard of gardens and fountains that let light and air into the interior space. The stone and tapestries, however, were definitely Archenland in feel and he recognized some of that country's folk stories in the designs.

The hospitality, however, was a unique experience. Or maybe this is what it always was if one was not a ruling Monarch? He was sporadically introduced. No one bothered to tell him where his rooms would be or what his purpose would be or ask him if he would like to refresh himself or how the journey was. Most importantly, no one asked to relieve him of the satchels with the accounting ledgers. Many people tried to pat Jina and called her "a good dog." Her patient forbearance was an example he knew he did not emulate with the same grace.

_King Edmund the Just of Narnia._

_Duke of the Lantern Waste._

_Count of the Western March._

_Breaker of the Wand of Jadis._

_Accounting clerk. _

_Bag carrier._

With a sigh, he followed Morgan and Pierce up the stairs, to the tune of a persistently ringing bell.

Walking into the resplendent office of the Director of Linch, Edmund was again reminded of the sagacity of Morgan's warnings and insistence upon his unofficial and anonymous status. As had just been demonstrated on the street, for all concerned, it was better that Edmund not be acknowledged as King of Narnia. If Linch was known to be entertaining (and sleeping with) Narnia, the other Houses would circle like sharks. Narnia coming into the Linch portfolio triggered complex procedures and disclosures under Linch House rules, under Banking protocols and custom, and even under the Lone Island Code – though he took Morgan's word for that. Edmund had not bothered studying that part of Tile 52, Section 355a because it had been too dull and not at all relevant since he proposed just drawing a big charcoal line through it and eliminating it all. He secretly enjoyed making that threat to Morgan and watching her stammer, flush, and wind up for a heated argument. Morgan insisted that they all be able to maintain "plausible deniability."

So, Edmund was Harold the clerk.

Even with the bright morning sun streaming through the windows, the Director's office was very, very bright. There were oil lamps on the walls, candles on the desks, and a fire in the hearth.

The room was enormous, certainly the size of the largest of offices at Cair Paravel. Heavy, dark wood panels and bookshelves lined the walls. The thick rug muffled sounds. A desk that seemed nearly as large as their Council Room table dominated the space. Then, the Director himself stood from behind the desk, and rose. And rose. And rose.

"And so, you finally return to us. Welcome home, Morgan."

Linch's voice was deep and powerful. He was taller and broader even than Peter, with the gravity and size of a Centaur and the very dark colouring of the far Southern Calormenes. Susan would have understood the language of his clothing and the power it conveyed; he wore a dark green robe over linens that were crisp and fitted. The gold ring and earring, and the emerald studs on his cuffs suggested wealth and restraint rather than greed. Bald, and with no beard, it was impossible to guess his age.

He came around his desk and Morgan shook his hand. "Thank you, Sir. This is Harold of Abdon, Winding Arrow." She gestured and Edmund stepped forward to have his hand squeezed in a vise.

"Sir," Edmund said, recognizing a power manoeuvre when he felt his bones being crushed in his hand by the Director's grip. "I thank you and your House for sponsoring me for training this Winter."

"Archenland is a valued client. You are welcome here. You are here at Lune's behest?"

The Linch Bankers did not use the Lune's title.

"Lune and Narnia," Morgan said. "He's been helping the Narnians and will be my clerk for the Winter so he can learn to keep books properly."

Edmund bristled that there was anything wrong with his accounting skills but in what was to be his role, mutely accepted the criticism.

"Yes, Narnia," Linch said. "So if the High King is sponsoring someone here, I may assume, Morgan, that you did not alienate the country or compromise our House?"

Morgan tilted her chin up. "No, Sir. All's fine there."

Jina growled. Linch's eyes slid to the Hound and his eyebrows rose. So did Jina's hair.

"Please introduce us, AD Morgan."

"I wondered how long it would take you, Sir," Morgan said with a grin. "This is Jina, Lady Hound of the Palace Pack of Cair Paravel, Narnia."

"Good morning, Sir," Jina replied. She would have no difficulty learning and immediately using the appropriate titles.

"Do I shake your paw, Lady Hound?" Linch asked.

"No, Sir," Jina replied. "Nor will I suggest greeting you as a Hound might greet another Hound."

Edmund had to stifle the guffaw. Morgan did not bother and laughed.

"I can see from Pierce's reaction that you did not advertise that a Narnian Hound was in your company, though you took your time coming home from the harbour?"

"You are a Talking Hound!" Pierce stammered.

"I am, AD Pierce, and I apologize for the silence," Jina replied. "And you are correct, Director, about our secrecy. Banker Morgan advised that it was unwise for Narnia and for your House if it were known that a Narnian of my status was here at her invitation."

"Better you, Lady Hound, than one of your Monarchs." Linch's gaze slid over to Edmund.

"My Kings and Queens are yours as well, Sir," Jina replied, speaking Edmund's thoughts aloud.

To this, Director Linch did not respond with anything but a raised eyebrow.

"Sir, there is another Narnian you should meet who traveled with me." Morgan crossed over to the room, stumbling on the carpet and catching herself on a desk corner. Edmund saw a weary look pass between Pierce and Linch. She pushed open the window and stepped back.

Sallowpad flew in, flapped one circuit about the room while she again shut the window and then landed on Morgan's upraised arm.

"A crow?" Pierce exclaimed. "Morgan, what have you been up to?"

"Going Narnian," she retorted. "And he's a Raven, not a Crow. Chief Sallowpad, this is the Director of Linch and AD Pierce."

Raven and Linch studied one another.

Finally, Linch said, "Would it be odd to say, Chief Sallowpad, that you seem familiar to me?"

"And you to me, Director." The Raven peered closely at the Human, bobbing his head up and down. "The _Meritorious_ was your flagship," Sallowpad croaked decisively. "You owned a fleet that sailed between Zalindreh and Narrowhaven."

"Well remembered, Chief Sallowpad," Linch said with a bow. "It was from the days of my own apprenticeship – to learn the business before trying to run it. Much as you are doing, Harold."

It was a pointed barb, probably addressed to the King, not the clerk, and, with some effort, Edmund brushed it aside. "Just so, Sir."

"As it turns out, Morgan, I have become acquainted with other Narnians who claim your friendship."

"Really?" Morgan exclaimed. She looked about. "Jina, are they here?"

"You just had to ruin the surprise, didn't you, Director?" Willa's voice called from above.

Edmund looked up and Willa's nose and then rest of her appeared from over the top of a bookcase.

"Lady Willa is the only Rat here. I spoke briefly to Keme on our way here from the Harbour," Jina said.

"Rat!" Pierce cried.

"Linch House has a veritable infestation of Rats," Linch said. "Are you going to come down, Lady Willa while we sit, or are you enjoying your vantage over the rest of us?"

"As I won't be spying, I'll come down," Willa replied and scrabbled down the wall to the floor.

Edmund deliberately let out a relieved sigh and a smile, wanting his subjects to know how very pleased he was to see them again. He had assumed all was well from Jina's reaction at the Silver Stair, but to see Willa with every whisker in place was wonderful.

Willa saluted them. "Well met, Banker Morgan. Clerk Harold, Jina, it's good to see you both again. So you saw Keme in Lower Town?" she asked Jina. "She was supposed to be on the watch for you."

"She is," Jina said. "She was going to observe the unloading of our ship, see who was getting paid at the docks, and come back here this evening."

"Where's Teddy?" Morgan asked.

"Probably sneaking about Stanleh," Linch said.

"We have a Rat? Inside Stanleh?" Shock laced Pierce's tone.

Edmund was very interested to hear how the Director was going to dance around this one, if Linch was not supposed to be representing Narnia.

"_We_ do not, unfortunately," Linch said, with another, disconcerting glance in Edmund's direction. "Narnia does."

"So, Narnia is spying on Stanleh but we are sheltering the Narnians?" Pierce asked.

"No!" Morgan said.

"So we are working for Narnia?" Pierce persisted.

"Of course not," the Director boomed. "Narnia is doing work whose interests coincide with our own and that of Archenland."

Edmund had to remember to thank King Lune for being so very, very convenient.

"Everyone sit," the Director said, making it sound like an order, not an offer of hospitality. Perhaps he took lessons from the same school as the General. Sallowpad flew to a window sill and the rest of them sat on the low chairs that surrounded a work table.

Edmund was relieved to finally drop the satchels. For a whole breath, he relaxed. And then, the Director took a lead and ledger from the table and handed them to him with a very superior look.

"For notes," Morgan muttered.

_King Edmund the Just of Narnia._

_Duke of the Lantern Waste._

_Count of the Western March._

_Breaker of the Wand of Jadis._

_Accounting clerk. _

_Bag carrier._

_Secretary._

"How did you both meet?" Morgan asked Willa and the Director. Morgan asked what Edmund was very interested in learning himself. "Was there a problem?"

Pierce was still trying to adjust to conversation with a very large Rat. Willa was sitting back on her haunches on top of the desk, studying a ledger. "You messed your long division, Director. _Again_."

Linch shook his head with disgust. "Note the sum, Lady Rat. I'll have Harold correct it later."

Willa rubbed her paw on a lead and smeared a mark next the errant account. She would do the same with his own and Susan's accountings.

"That is how she came to my attention," Linch said, sounding amused. "I was coming in every morning and finding my previous day's work corrected."

Morgan laughed.

"Given the paw prints, I suspected mice or rats, so let the cats loose on the floor at night. "

Willa squeaked with glee. "Keme locked the stupid things in the closet."

"The cats were terrified. So, we set out poison," the Director said.

Edmund felt the strength leave him, to be replaced by a driving rage. If this man had murdered one of his Rats…

"But everyone is alright?" Morgan cried in a way that was heartening. She was as appalled as he was.

"Fine," Linch said curtly. "Aren't you listening? She already said that Keme and Teddy are alive and about."

"Bad stuff that poison," Willa said. "I knew there was something off about it, but it's a local variety and didn't smell of the usual. Keme and Teddy would have eaten it if I'd not been there. That's when it turned serious and I didn't want to see a mistake made that couldn't be undone. I introduced myself to the Director the next morning."

"She has been correcting my sums ever since," the Director. "And now, to business."

Six hours chimed from the Narrowhaven clock tower as Morgan, Pierce and Director Linch talked of what had been and what was to come. Jina dozed. Sallowpad listened and spoke little, but when he did it was to either update his own information or to share some observation about the wider world. Willa scampered about, injecting observations when matters touched on the Rats' work.

Edmund learned that the Rats had decided that Sterns was not worth the effort. What Stanleh did, Sterns tried to do, and not as well. Willa had already provided the Director with a list of the Guilds and businesses she believed were fronts that were funding aggressive Calormene interests. When the Houses began reviewing their own clients for the year, and then passing those conclusions to the other Houses for verification of the audit, Linch would know what it was looking for and would be able to expose the enterprises' "cooked books" was how Willa and the Director described it. Linch was not acting for Narnia exactly. But, exposing the frauds and arms dealers in Calormen was certainly consistent with Archenland's interests and Narnia supported the work.

It was a very fine line, but Edmund was not going to argue the point.

It was also plainly part of a long-standing feud between Linch and Stanleh and anything one could do to embarrass the other was fair game.

Edmund's To Do List grew longer and longer. It was not his imagination. The Director was heaping his most arduous and menial tasks upon Edmund. Who did this work when Morgan did not bring a secretary home?

A late tea arrived. The work continued. The light faded, a gray rain began to fall outside, and staff arrived, automatically and wordlessly, to light the lamps and braces of candles. Signaling a break, the Director stood and took his tea cup to his desk.

"It is time I speak to Morgan alone. So, all of you, out. Tomorrow, the work begins."

Edmund had to wonder what today was if not work. Pierce helped him gather his notes. "I will show you where Morgan's offices are and your room?"

Nodding wearily, Edmund filed out after Pierce, the others following behind him. Sallowpad winged out of the room and found a window seat to land upon.

"Chief, I'll show you around and where we can eat," Willa said.

"Excellent!" Sallowpad croaked. "Jina, you are going with them?"

"Yes, though I would like to tour the House as well."

"We'll come by," Willa said and she turned tail and disappeared around a corner, with the Raven flying after her.

None of this exchange was unusual by Narnia standards. Pierce was still adjusting to the novelty. Jina nudged him with her nose. "Would you be so good as to show us the rooms, AD Pierce?"

"Certainly, Lady Hound." He shook his head. "I'm talking to a Rat, a Dog, and a Crow."

"Raven," Edmund supplied. "Crows are smaller. And be glad there is no Otter."

"What's wrong with Otters?" Pierce asked as they followed him down the hall and a back stair.

"Unspeakably rude," Jina said.

Pierce introduced him along the way to other staff and Bankers who were going about their evening business. There was a lot of consternation, sympathy, and expressions of "good luck" when they learned he was to be Morgan's secretary for the Winter. Edmund had the impression that while Morgan was respected by all, and liked by some, no one wanted to work for her. He was not surprised. Morgan had a formidable intellect but she was a very demanding person.

"These are Morgan's offices," Pierce said, pushing open a door of a well-lit hall. "The cleaning staff were in here earlier today getting it ready for her return." He lit one of the oil lamps to illuminate the anteroom. "Her secretary, that will be you, takes this desk." Pierce gestured about and Edmund gratefully set his notes on the table. His traveling trunk and luggage had been deposited in a corner.

Jina walked about the room, sniffing the corners.

"Morgan's office is through this door," Pierce pushed open the door and held up the lamp so that Edmund could see the large, echoing space. Jina pushed by him and investigated Morgan's office as well.

"You both will be spending a lot of time here," Pierce said. "You understand that, don't you? That this is a very important and busy time for us?"

"I did just take four pages of notes," Edmund said. "I do understand the work involved. It is why I came. Did the staff put my luggage in Morgan's office assuming I would be sleeping and working here?"

"Falling asleep over a Guild accounting with a ten-day to the Conclave will happen," Pierce replied, with a grin. "But, you will have a space to call your own."

Jina came out of Morgan's office and Pierce shut the door. "What is she looking for?"

"I am smelling for anything that may pose a threat to Banker Morgan or Harold," Jina replied. She went to the traveling trunk and luggage and began sniffing about them. Then, satisfied, she went to anteroom door and lay down.

"You do that?" Pierce asked. "Smell for threats?"

"Of course."

"Never underestimate the nose, ear, and sensitivity of a Narnian Hound, Pierce."

"Oh? What do you mean?"

Edmund gestured to the Hound. "These are not parlour tricks, Friend, but perhaps you might indicate to AD Pierce just how much you perceive."

Jina lifted her head and inhaled. "Rats make you uncomfortable; you are wary of Harold but you trust him more than Seth Stanleh; you would like to mate with Maeve Stanleh; your sister frustrates you but you are very glad to see her; you are hungry and you had eggs at breakfast." Jina paused. "And an apple."

"That's…" Pierce stammered.

"Indeed," Edmund replied, saving Pierce the explanation.

The Banker stood there for a long, thoughtful moment. Finally, he said, "Jina, Harold, please do not mention again that observation about Maeve?"

"Of course not, AD Pierce," Jina said. "I politely ignore such things unless they pose a threat. Should you wish my assistance in mating or other matters, I am happy to provide it, of course. Humans are very complicated and do not communicate well with each other at all."

Pierce stared at her. Swallowed. Stared some more. Finally, he said, "You help Morgan, don't you? Like with Maeve and Seth today."

"Yes," Jina said simply. She set her head down between her paws with a sigh.

Shaking his head, Pierce shut the door to Morgan's office. "On the subject of Morgan, and those _other matters_ Jina mentioned, I'm afraid I need to ask a blunt question, Harold."

Edmund crossed his arms over his chest. "You may ask. Whether I answer is another matter entirely."

"This is Morgan's hall and her bedroom, to the extent she uses it during the audit season, is one door down. Would she want your room near hers, or as far away as possible?" Before Edmund could respond, Pierce added, "And if you provide the wrong answer, understand that I will throw you to her mercy, and you really don't want that."

Edmund decided that he liked Pierce very much for he was treating his sister with the respect and autonomy she deserved. It was, in fact, just the sort of thing he might have said to an admirer of Susan or Lucy.

"Morgan would prefer if my room is near hers," Edmund replied. He thought it interesting that Pierce did not ask what Edmund's own preferences were. Again, he thought of how he would manage a similar situation with Lucy or Susan and saw that Pierce expected his sister to handle her own affairs. Nor was there any huffing and posturing about protecting feminine virtue. He wondered if this was the custom of all the Houses or specific to Morgan.

"In that case, we can just move your trunk to the room across from hers, and not bother the staff," Pierce said cheerfully. They each took a handle and lugged the thing down the hall, Jina following. While Jina carefully inspected the room, Pierce lit the lamps and Edmund went back to collect the rest of his things.

He tarried in the office anteroom, waiting until Jina joined him.

"All is well," she said, quietly. "I will lie down here; it is more comfortable than your rooms, and I can still easily hear both you and Banker Morgan."

"Thank you, Friend. Let me know if you require anything. Doors lock here so you may have difficulty going out and about. My instincts, though, are that we are very secure in this House."

"Mine as well, King…" Jina paused and she corrected, "Harold. I spoke to Willa and she and the others have been all over the House and they believe there is no threat from within. The Bankers outside the House are another matter."

"You mean the Stanleh Bankers? That was a tense meeting to be sure."

Jina growled. "It is more than that, King Edmund." Jina was slipping into her customary speech.

"Who? Seth Stanleh? He was…"

"No, my King. Maeve Stanleh."

"She barely paid me any mind at all. Does she suspect who I am?"

"The risk is not to you, King Edmund. Maeve hates Morgan. Deeply. It's…" Jina growled again, searching for the words. "_Human_, if I may so. Only Humans have such violent feelings toward another Human."

She cocked an ear. "Willa and Sallowpad come."

Edmund opened the door and the Raven winged in, flapped awkwardly about and settled on an overhead rafter. Willa bounded in.

"Good to see you again, _Harold_," Willa quipped. She stood up on her haunches and saluted him.

"And you, Lady Rat. I am most impressed with your work thus far."

"I was just telling Harold about Maeve Stanleh," Jina said.

Willa bared her teeth. "She's a bad one. Spotted her straight off. She's Teddy's special project."

"Harold? Are you coming?" Pierce called.

"Yes, sorry, Pierce," Edmund answered. "My apologies, Friends."

"We'll catch up in the Kitchens," Willa said. "AD Pierce will bring you there next and he's alright."

"You are armed?" Sallowpad asked from the rafters.

Edmund patted his arm and the sheath his sleeve concealed. "Of course."

"The House is already locked up, too," Willa said. "Jina, why don't we show you about? See if you sense anything we didn't?"

"Excellent."

Edmund watched his subjects head purposefully back down the corridor and felt oddly bereft without them. He felt secure, but he also felt very alone. He hurried back to Pierce.

"My apologies. I was speaking with Jina and then Willa and Sallowpad came to collect her."

"Of course." Pierce was tossing bedclothes and coverings onto the bed. "I found these for you."

"Thank you."

Edmund knew how to make up a bed, of course. On the road, he managed his own bedroll and cots. Still, it was humbling to realize that Mr. Hoberry would not be seeing to these things. At home, Edmund would turn his head and when he reached for whatever he required, it would be there.

The room itself was adequate. Edmund was seeing a pattern in all of Linch House. Good lighting for close and late night work, comfortable, padded chairs, well used desks, quills, ink, leads, and parchment everywhere, refuse bins and burn bags, shelves and crates to organize papers and ledgers, a strong box for keeping secure things secure. The bed looked fine, but small, and he hoped that Morgan's private room, or at least her bed, was roomier.

"Thank you, Pierce, this is excellent," Edmund said, investigating the modest dressing and wash area behind a curtain.

"Pardon my ignorance, but what accommodation should be made for the Narnians, for Jina, Sallowpad, and the Rats?"

"You should ask them," Edmund replied, reminding himself that until people became accustomed to the Beasts, they would treat them as pets who needed Human supervision. "Jina, however, will certainly spend her time here, with Morgan and with me. She just now expressed a preference for Morgan's office, so she will ask for a blanket. I saw Sallowpad investigating the rafters there, but he is very much his own Bird and knows Narrowhaven well. It is courteous to ask, of course. The Rats have probably already found a place and will not want to reveal where it is but you can be sure it is near the Kitchens."

"Rats in the Kitchens," Pierce said, shaking his head with a bemused smile.

"Hair, feathers, and leaves are always a component of Narnian food."

"They are all remarkable. I don't see the Director taking to someone very often, but he obviously respects Willa and Sallowpad impressed him. As for Jina…"

"Quite," Edmund replied, filling in for Pierce's unspoken awe. "Talking Beasts and Birds do not see the world as we do but Jina is exceptional even by the standards of her kind."

"I will take you down to the Kitchens and introduce you to the staff and any of the other Bankers who are about." Pierce moved around the bed and set some towels in the dressing area.

"How many Linch Bankers are there?" Edmund had seen a goodly number but he really had no idea.

"Only the Director knows for certain how many have taken an Oath to the House and they are scattered all over. We're all related by blood or marriage somehow or another. About a score of us will be in residence for the shut in and the work leading up to the Conclave."

It sounded remarkably like a sophisticated intelligence operation, which was, Edmund decided, a very apt analogy.

"Shall we to the Kitchens then?" Edmund asked. Jina had said Pierce was hungry.

Pierce, however, yet made no move to the door. "Before we do so, may I ask you a few more questions, with the understanding that you may not answer them?"

"Certainly." Edmund sat at the bed's corner and Pierce leaned against the desk. Morgan was fond of her brother and he could see the feelings were reciprocated. Pierce did not trust him, but Edmund thought that wise, rather than an affront. As for Pierce's attraction to Maeve Stanleh, well, there was no accounting for personal preference and lust was not a rational process regardless.

"You heard AD Seth speak of the mysterious Narnian drafting those documents?"

"Oh yes," Edmund replied, still enjoying the after effects of that unintended compliment. It had been the high point of a difficult day.

"Morgan was very focused upon finding out the identity of that draftsman. Obsessed, even, which, well…" He sighed. "It's one reason why she insisted on going to Narnia. And, Morgan can be very single-minded."

"She has admirable and formidable powers of concentration," Edmund said diplomatically.

Pierce smiled. "Well said. Like Seth, I did wonder whether she found the draftsman?"

Edmund weighed the options and for Pierce the answer was plain. "She did indeed, within a few days of arriving."

"And you are that draftsman?"

"I am."

He nodded. "This all makes more sense in that light." His finger restlessly tapped the desk. It did not seem that Pierce had completed his astute queries, so Edmund did what any Rat or Crow would do and waited.

Very slowly, Pierce finally said, "I understand there are very few Humans in Narnia."

The point of this exchange was clear, so Edmund would help him along and chose his words carefully, being mindful of the plausible deniability to be maintained. "You are correct. The Witch eliminated all humans in Narnia to cheat fulfillment of the prophecy."

"Prophecies," Pierce muttered. "What utter rot."

Reigning in his spike of irritation, Edmund countered. "So it might seem, yet uncontrovertibly, pursuant to the prophecy, the four Thrones of Cair Paravel were filled, the Witch killed, and her Winter broken these ten years past."

Pierce flushed a little. "Yes, of course," he muttered.

"To answer what I believe is the real point of your question, some Humans who survived the Witch's purges have since returned to claim ancestral properties. But, the only Narnian humans within a day's ride of the thrones of Cair Paravel are the Kings and Queens themselves."

Edmund could see when the pieces fit together in the widening and then calculated narrowing of the man's eyes.

"I see," Pierce finally said quietly.

"Yes, I should think you would. And now, may I ask a question?"

Pierce opened his hands wide, palms up. "But of course." Edmund was relieved there was no "Your Majesty" tacked on, though with a Lone Islands Banker, it might have been "Sir," without Jalur present to issue a correction.

"I have not had the opportunity to ask Jina her opinion. I wondered if you think the Director sees this situation as clearly as you do?"

"Oh yes. That was what put me to a mind of it, was how he addressed and treated you. He has his own sources of information as well."

Of course the Bankers would have spies fixed on Narnia and he had already considered how elements of the House's business were akin to an intelligence operation. It was naïve to think otherwise, though Narnia was also a very difficult place for spies, especially human spies, to operate within. More likely, Linch had spies in Archenland.

"I'm sure that's why he shunted the two of us off," Pierce continued. "He wanted a father-daughter chat with her to discuss this and make certain Morgan is clear on her responsibilities to the House."

"Father?" Edmund asked, confused. And it hit him with the force of an Ettin mace to his skull. The Director of Linch was Morgan and Pierce's father. Morgan was not merely a high ranking Linch Banker holding her own portfolio of business interests. She was in line for leadership of the House itself.

Pierce raised his eyebrows. "I confess I did that deliberately, _Harold_."

"This has been an illuminating day for us all."

"In the interest of illumination, I should perhaps explain something more fully as the Director cannot and Morgan probably will not. It is a very good thing that you are Harold of Abdon, Winding Arrow, and not, say, a Monarch of Narnia courting a Linch heir." Pierce spoke slowly, making sure that Edmund understood what he meant.

"A very good thing indeed," Edmund replied firmly. "Such a concentration of power would be very concerning to the other Houses. The Kings and Queens would not wish to cause consternation among their subjects, particularly during the pendency of the Code revisions."

With the frown crossing Pierce's face, Edmund was seeing how little the Bankers liked to acknowledge that they were in fact subjects of and to Narnia. While he and his siblings were not interested in throwing their sovereign weight about, the Banking Houses had grown too accustomed to being their own law.

He continued, making the point clear. "Regardless, while I of course cannot speak for a Monarch of Narnia, I am certain the Crown is not wooing Morgan of Linch and that she has a similar understanding."

"Oh, I do not doubt Morgan's understanding at all, however it would be very good were the Monarch to understand the impossibility of such courtship, regardless."

He did not wish for or contemplate courting Morgan. But, Edmund did feel another wave of irritation at being told by his Lone Island subject what his Monarch could and could not do. "And why is that, AD Pierce?" Edmund asked coolly.

"Morgan is already committed to Alan of Meryl House in a portfolio and power sharing joint venture arrangement between Linch and Meryl. It is a very important agreement and took years to negotiate. For some royal to upset it would unsettle significant business expectation."

Edmund felt a cold chill move through him. This veiled and nuanced talk was all fine and well, but there were limits to what _some royal_ would tolerate. While it was easier to be imposing with a Tiger at his back, the Just King would permit no ambiguity here. "Whatever the Lone Islands think of their autonomy, AD Pierce, Narnia looks very ill on any bonding of any couple without the free and knowing consent of both. Under Narnian law, which does supersede the Lone Island Code even if you do not so acknowledge it, the High King or his designee may dissolve such a bond in _Our_ discretion alone." His voice rose, not shrill, but full and commanding. "Are _We_ clear?"

Pierce drew back with blinking shock. "Yes, Sir, of course." He straightened from his slump against the desk and found his voice. Where there had been a lecturing, superior cast to Pierce before, now he was defensive. "Sir, understand that Morgan is of age, a Banker with her own income and properties in her own right. Surely you know her well enough that she would not do what she does not wish. There is nothing coercive about this joint venture at all."

"We are glad to hear of it," Edmund replied, though he certainly had his doubts. Peter and Susan were not being coerced to produce a consort and heir, but they felt intense pressure to do so all the same. Morgan's loyalty to her House would easily sway her and the Director knew it and used that power over her. He would dissolve any bonding a Narnian did not want, Morgan's included, and Tash damn the consequences. Marriage was politics, to be sure, but Narnia would not tolerate rape and slavery under the guise of connubial relations.

Pierce let out a breath and shoved off from the desk. "Well, it's been an illuminating day, as you say. Jina was right, and I'm starving. Shall we go to the Kitchens?"

"Thank you, yes, that would be fine."

They put out the lamps and left the room, following the same scent of foods the Narnians had. Edmund wondered if Morgan and her father would eat or just keep working.

"Oh, and one more thing, Harold."

"Yes?"

"To maintain the plausible deniability, please do not use that royal _We_ again."

OO00OO

Pierce showed him to the Kitchens and Edmund began to understand something of the rhythms of the House. The Bankers kept very erratic hours during the winter shut it, so there was always a table set down and no attempt to fix normal meal schedules. He was not terribly hungry, but Sallowpad, Willa, and Jina all made such a fuss, he agreed to eat just to keep them from embarrassing him.

Keme and Teddy joined them and Edmund greeted the Rats with delight and listened as they proudly told him their tales. They all managed to remember his alias, though Teddy persisted in calling him "Sir." Jalur would have been horrified but Edmund thought this was a habit Teddy would carry with him back to Narnia.

The staff took with good grace the fact that they had Rats, a Hound, and a Bird in the Kitchen. The Rats were already well-established in the Kitchen and Sallowpad and Jina were welcomed as well. It probably helped that the Director himself had told the staff to be accommodating of the Narnians. The cats disappeared and Jina was very aloof of the friendly water dogs. Edmund hoped they would not have to deal with a heat for her.

Whatever unease might have developed was alleviated by the fact that a cook loves nothing more than someone who appreciates her food and the Rats were nothing if not appreciative. Their table manners were sloppy, of course, but they had discerning palates and were very complimentary, chatting about seasonings and preparation preferences.

He tarried at table, wondering if Morgan might join them, but the evening lengthened, and she did not. There was some wine and more ale, but they drank little. At the tenth bell of the evening, Pierce finally rose from the table with a yawn. "I'm off, Harold. You still joining us for handball tomorrow?"

"Certainly."

"Meet me here at the second bell."

The Rats snuck off to wherever they had made their nest. Edmund knew better than to ask. He followed Jina and Sallowpad back to Morgan's office, but Morgan had still not returned. He worked for a little while, organizing and prioritizing the notes of the meeting. The Director wanted him to start with the early-received reports of the smaller Guilds of Terebinthia. Financial analyses of cobblers, tailors, and butchers were in his near future.

He knew it was training. It also sounded very dull.

By the eleventh bell, Edmund gave up waiting for Morgan. It was late and Jina was drowsing. Sallowpad was already asleep, roosting in a rafter, with his head tucked under his wing. As he left the office, Jina raised her head.

"You are troubled, my King," she said softly. "Would you like company?"

"No, Jina, but thank you. I shall be fine."

She stared at him, her brows knitting with Hound concern. Then, she lowered her head to her paws. "As you wish."

Edmund went to his room and welcomed the discipline of a Rat and Crow letter to Susan to order his thoughts. He dutifully reported on the persons, the intelligence gained thus far, the work to be done in the months ahead, that all the Narnians were accounted for, and that he missed his sisters and brother. With the weather turning, he decided that he would debrief the Crows who had been here and send them home. Everyone would be inside during the winter months and there was little more the Crows would be able to contribute.

The feeling of loneliness intensified with the letter. He unpacked his things, thinking that the familiarity would help. It did not. Buried in his trunk, under a false bottom designed by the Dwarfs, lay a neatly folded King's change of clothes, a sword, belt, and scabbard, his signet ring, banner, and traveling crown. Edmund fingered the ring with its symbol of a scale and Lion balanced with two Crows.

He wanted to send words to Aslan, but was ashamed to admit how unsettled he felt. Edmund would not speak tonight of what was in his heart, even to the Lion.

Clutching his signet ring in his hand, Edmund could not place it on his forefinger when here in this strange place he was Harold the clerk from Winding Arrow. Yet, the ring and what it symbolized were part of who he was and amidst all the strangeness, he would wear it regardless. He found a leather tie in his luggage – Morgan usually used it for her hair. He put the string through the ring and tied it around his neck, where it rested near his heart.

This part of Narnia he would carry with him until the task here was done.

He separated soiled and clean clothing from the voyage, remembering that shirts and trousers would no longer magically appear and disappear. He would have to take them to launderers in the House and retrieve them later.

Rain mixed with the occasional pellet of ice beat against the thick windows. He held up a candle but its feeble light could not pierce the dark outside. In daylight, he would be able to see the port of Lower Town and the tall-masted ships moored in the harbour. The ships were being hauled into dry dock or, like the ship he had arrived on that morning, would sail out to winter in warmer ports where their hulls and masts would not be at risk from ice. He would live here for months.

There was the sound of voices in the hall – Jina was speaking with Morgan.

He heard a tentative knock. "Harold?"

He could pretend to be asleep, but to what end? He was trapped in this House with her until Spring arrived.

Edmund opened the door to Morgan. Her fretful weariness shined far brighter than the candle lighting her bedroom behind her. She took his hand and led him across the hall to her room.

Was it presumptuous of her to assume that all was just as it had been, as recently as last night on the ship? Or, did she understand his uncertainty and loneliness because she had felt the same in Narnia? Even if he could ask such a thing, Edmund did not think Morgan would be able to answer. She had no more insight into her heart than he did, either into hers, or his own. It was why they relied upon Jina.

Down the hall he saw Jina's eyes glowing green in the dark. Even the Hound could not help them now. Edmund followed Morgan into her room and shut the door

Morgan bumped into her trunk that was crowding the floor. He jumped forward and caught her, stumbled himself, and ended up falling, Morgan with him, into the nearest object which was, fortunately, the bed. It was the sort of thing that seemed erotic in theory but with Morgan always involved minor but inconvenient pain.

Edmund landed on his back and Morgan came down on top of him.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I just left. I came straight away."

Her braid fell over her shoulder. Edmund began teasing it apart. "You have worked all day. Are you hungry? Do you need to go to the Kitchens?"

She shook her head, freeing her hair, and pressed her palms into his chest. "You're the only thing I need."

Her fingers found the ring around his neck and she drew it out from the folds of his nightshirt. "Your signet?"

"To remind me of who I really am."

"If it helps. But you can't be anyone else." Morgan kissed the ring and set it back down. She gestured wildly and almost slid away from him, "None of this changes who you are."

Her words were kind and heartfelt but, this time, these things she gave were not enough. His intellect and imagination were as bruised as his shins. He wanted to trust Morgan but her continual omission of enormously relevant information was making him doubt her.

"Who are you, Morgan? Really? What of all the things I learned today that you neglected to tell me? What else is there?"

She sucked in a breath. "You talked to Pierce?"

"I did," Edmund replied. In spite of the hurt and uncertainty, he ran his hands beneath her bunched up skirt and reveled in how she moved and breathed in response to his touch. The control he had over nothing else could be found in exerting it over her, in making Morgan want him, in withholding and giving what she wanted. But again, to what end? He did not need to manipulate her – that was an ugly thing and Morgan had chosen him already.

"I knew you were significant in Linch management, Morgan. I knew your title. I did not know you were the Director's own daughter. Or, that you are committed to someone else."

"Oh," she said, biting her lip. "I just didn't see those as material."

"Why ever not?" Edmund challenged.

"The agreement with Alan is non-exclusive. I mean, we can't take up with a competitor of course. Alan's been with Constance Meryl, one of his second cousins, for years."

"So you being the lover of King Edmund of Narnia is not a contractual breach?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "And it's permitted under the Narnian agreement as well."

His intellect and imagination were both very relieved to hear this. Something else within him still felt miffed and hurt, and yes, angry. Was there not a larger point here? It was not relevant to the contracts, but perhaps it was relevant _to him_? And if so, was it that she had promised herself to another man? Or that she did not tell him?

Morgan began fumbling with the fasteners on her dress and these inconvenient thoughts skittered away. It was embarrassing to feel such desperate need for her in this strange place amidst all his doubts. After all these months together, did Morgan know that? Did she understand? Had she felt as alone in Narnia?

Morgan scowled for her fingers were not clever enough to manage her gown unaided. "I can't!" she muttered fiercely. "I want this off!"

Edmund continued the work for her, taking the laces and fasteners apart, one after another, to reveal more and more of her smooth dark skin by the glow of the flickering candlelight.

"And why did you say nothing of your father? That you are heir to the Directorship and the title Linch, and all the House's holdings?"

"I was in Narnia unofficially, Harold. I told you that. Just like you are here unofficially now." He steadied her, one hand on her bare leg, the other higher, to her waist, and so Morgan could draw her gown over her head and toss it into the corner. Edmund tugged his own nightshirt off and it joined her gown. They accomplished the whole without Morgan toppling off the bed, which had happened several times before.

This was not the sweet, gentleness of shy lovers. He needed her, needed her body around his, and needed her voice in his ears. But, even that was not enough when he felt angry and deceived.

Edmund flipped them over and gathered her up in his arms.

"I trust you, Morgan of Linch. But you must be more forthright with me. I do not like these surprises."

Morgan traced his jaw with her finger, managing to not stab him in the eye. "I'm sorry. I don't… It's hard for me to know what's important to you, Harold."

"Edmund," he prompted, clutching at her shoulders.

"Edmund," she repeated and with that single word, his imagination reared up and demanded an end to everything except anything that would make her say his name over and over. "I don't know what you want to hear."

He shoved aside the clamoring demand for words he wanted to hear like, _"Do you enjoy this more, or this?"_ _"Let's try Illustration 23 next!"_ and his real name on her lips.

"Who your family is, that you are committed to someone else, your true place in the greater world, these things are all important, Morgan. As a King, I need this information to make sound decisions."

Even as he valued her honesty and demanded greater candor from her, Edmund also knew that he was guilty of half-truths. The King could manage. But the man, her lover, needed more. Edmund did not give trust easily. He had given it to Morgan on the testimony of Narnians who perceived hearts better than he. They were not here.

"I know you do not lie, but I need to hear these things from you, not someone else."

Morgan nodded. "I'll try. I worry though that if you know more about me, you…"

"I will what?" he prompted when Morgan trailed off. They were both becoming distracted as her fingers traced little circles on his chest. His ring dangled from his neck between them and her eyes followed it, not his own.

"That you won't want to…" She stopped and began again. "That you'll think ill of me."

Edmund ignored what he thought she was going to say – that Morgan worried he would leave her if he came to know her better. For that concern led to the deeper one – that what they shared was temporary, that at some point, it did have to end. _But not now._ Not with Morgan's smooth body twisting under his, her foot stroking his leg, her hands on his back pulling him closer.

"I am more likely to think ill of you if you hide things, not if you say them, my…"

Another word, a word of endearment, almost slipped out. Edmund caught it and shoved it aside as well. Enough with the words. He kissed her instead.

* * *

Chapter 7, A Hoard of Bankers, Part 2  
Two Hearts Day

* * *

Thanks to Clio for a beta!


	7. Chapter 7 A Hoard of Bankers, Part 2

Harold and Morgan: Not a Romance  
Chapter 7, Hoard of Bankers, Part 2

In which there is ritualized combat among Bankers

Thanks so very, very much to all of you who commented and came back and everything. I would not have continued otherwise.

* * *

The wind blew so hard against the office windows, Edmund felt a change in the pressure. The brace of candles flickered slightly. He heard the bell toll the eighth hour.

"What do you say, Morgan? Perhaps a spot of light supper? Some wine for me, ale for you? Perhaps some music for us that is reminiscent of summer? Maybe a walk under the moon? A late night swim?"

He spoke this to the room, for Morgan was behind the closed door to her office, pouring over her case study calling for the creation of creative terms under which a farming cooperative and flour millers' guild would agree to purchase wheat at harvest.

Jina lifted her head. "I do not believe Banker Morgan heard you, my King."

Edmund rose from his secretary's desk and stretched from the cramped position he had been in since the noon hour. "I know, Jina. A humour."

Confirming the sums and analyses to the ninth hour was not going to change what he had derived at the seventh. Edmund stoppered the ink and left the last pages from the Seven Isles Guilds' accountings open to dry. Before meeting his doom, he knocked on Morgan's door.

"Go away unless you are Harold or don't have hands to knock!"

He pushed open her office. "Then I may come in?"

With a pile of reference material and ledgers on her desk blocking her view, Morgan looked around them and smiled wearily at him. "Did you finish the Guilds?"

"I did. You were right. Once you have done one Island Guild, you have done them all."

"Except that you still have to actually do them," Morgan added.

"True," Edmund conceded. "Do you need anything?"

"Coffee?" she asked hopefully.

"You do not really mean that, do you?"

Bankers drank a darkly roasted Calormene coffee the way that Dwarfs and Satyrs drank Lightning – excessively. Though, unlike those sane Narnians who usually imbibed only at night, unless still drinking in the morning from the night before, Bankers consumed coffee constantly and at any hour of day or night.

"Well, yes," Morgan said. "Unless you happen to carry additional hours in your pockets?"

"Morgan, my dear, you with too much coffee is very like a Narnian Hummingbird with too much nectar."

A winsome grin crossed her face.

"What?" Edmund asked, looking over his shoulder and suspecting a Rat was mocking him behind his back.

She shook her head. "Nothing. And I don't swear nearly as well as a Hummingbird."

"Also true. You come to my home to learn curses and I come to your home to learn accounting."

"They are not so different."

"True again." Edmund sighed dramatically. "And winsome banter aside, I must now trudge up the stairs to the Director so that he might inspect the work and, I do hope, sign off on it. If he makes me redo them, I fear I shall commit ritualized self-injury on the handball court."

Morgan cupped her hand in her chin. "You did so well even without any training that you attracted my attention. And others, too. You're even better at it now. It will be fine. "

Edmund crossed the threshold into the room and joined Morgan at her desk. Wrapping an arm about her shoulders, he kissed the top of her head. She leaned against him, returning the embrace with a delicate touch of her own. His imagination was too startled by this sudden, and increasingly rare, moment of intimacy to do more than hum with pleasure.

"Thank you."

He was not nervous about this upcoming confrontation with the Director … well, perhaps a little.

She tilted her head back to look, askance, at him. "I'm trying, Harold."

He would have rather heard his real name in moments of candor such as this, but to her credit, Morgan was being more forthcoming. It reminded him of when Jalur was learning to be his Guard and erred in favor of over-inclusion until he developed the judgment to know what Edmund needed to and wanted to know. Morgan was saying more and it was always well-intentioned, if not quite right.

"I know," he replied and once his imagination stomped on his foot, he added, "And it is helping and I appreciate it."

She smiled in return and his imagination was lobbying for clearing off her desk and a quick, tactile refresher in Morgan's figure.

Everything else sighed and they untangled themselves. It was time for the reckoning.

"Wish me luck," he told her.

"I do, even if you don't need it."

Morgan bent again over her work and Edmund returned to the anteroom, shutting her door behind him. Edmund gathered up the ledgers and notes from his desk.

"Jina, I am off to the Director's office. Sallowpad and Willa are there, so you may stay here. Any risk to me before Director Linch is not physical."

The Hound lifted her nose and deeply inhaled. "The House doors are closed for the evening. It is very quiet, but also very tense."

"It will be that way for some time yet. Until the Conclave."

She stared at him, nostrils flaring slightly. "You are very weary, King Edmund. You must rest when you return or you will be impaired tomorrow."

Edmund disliked being reminded of this, but would not vent his frustration upon his concerned subject. He nodded. "I will."

Tucking the accounts for the Shipwrights, Ropemakers, and Metalworkers under his arm, Edmund began his journey and climb to the Director of Linch. On his way he saw, marked on tree-shaped boards throughout the House, the counting down of the days to Conclave and lists of the client accounts to be audited and passed on to other Houses for review. That list was slowly being filled in; the list of accounts coming in from the other Houses for the verifying "second look" was still distressingly short.

Jina was right.

As busy as they were, he needed to be more moderate now so that he would be able to tackle the tasks still to come when they had to review what came in and pass judgment upon the work of the other Houses. It was a very delicate process. A House did not want to be excessively critical for it invited reciprocally harsh criticism of the House's own work. A House wanted to give enough time for adequate review of its work, but not too much. There was a keen competition to catch another House in errors and no House wanted to pass on something another House later found was error. And, most important, these results and findings would guide all their investment decisions for the following year – misjudge the stability of an entity and the financial repercussions could be severe for everyone. It was hard and stressful with inherent redundancies. Edmund could also see why the system had worked so long and so well.

In Cair Paravel, it was unthinkable to routinely conduct official business this late. Here, it was expected and, indeed, was a House Rule that completed accounts were to be reviewed by the Director as soon as possible so that they could then be passed on to other Houses. Edmund knocked on the heavy green door, thinking he heard voices within.

"Come in!" the Linch's voice boomed.

Edmund entered the bright office.

Linch was seated at a table with an older woman, her blonde hair dulling to gray. She was in the blue which identified her as a member of Meryl House. In a normal place, given the hour and intimacy, Edmund might have been concerned he had interrupted something personal. Such a thing was unthinkable here and now. The Bankers both rose from their seats and Edmund nodded.

"Good evening, Sir, Banker." _Banker_ was the polite catchall until he learned her appropriate title.

"You have finished the Seven Isles Guilds?" the Director asked.

"Yes, Sir."

Linch nodded. "I will review them in a moment. Harold of Abdon, have you met my sister, Gertrude, the Director of Meryl House?"

"No, Sir." Edmund juggled the ledgers and set them on the Director's massive desk, then put out his hand. "Director Meryl, it is a pleasure to meet you."

Meryl was as blonde as Linch was dark so Edmund assumed the connection must have been through marriage –Morgan and Pierce's missing mother, he assumed. Like the others with a Meryl connection, he could see the Northern, Archenland influence.

She shook his hand, without the bone crushing intensity of the other Bankers, men and women both.

"Abdon," Director Meryl mused. "Of the Winding Arrow basin, I presume? Upper or lower?"

"The Upper River," Edmund replied, again grateful Morgan had insisted on a credible story.

"Oh, but of course," she replied. "My son has mentioned that you have joined his handball foursome. Alan says you have picked up the game very quickly."

Linch guffawed; he knew the truth of the matter.

"Vice Director Alan is very kind, both in his instruction and his praise," Edmund replied. He had learned firsthand, and painfully, just how brutally competitive Bankers' sport was. Really, Ettins were more merciful than a Hoard of Bankers on the handball court.

"Are you here at the behest of King Lune?" she asked, with the bluntness he had also come to expect. The Calormenes thought the Narnians painfully direct in their manners; what did they think of their Bankers? Perhaps Bankers were the tolerated exception.

"I am."

"One of these days, I'll take Archenland back from you, Linch," Director Meryl said in her brother's direction. "And bring her back to Meryl where she belongs."

"Not until we close Morgan's joint venture with Alan," Linch replied with a glance Edmund was determined to ignore.

_Odd._ In Narnia, he would have felt at ease to lean back on the desk during a conversation, or even sit. Here, he unquestionably had to remain straight and standing. Edmund did not think he would ever again forget to ask someone in his most royal presence to _please take a seat_. He tried to discreetly withdraw from the conversation.

Meryl, however, did not let him make the graceful withdrawal. She stared at him with a quizzical frown. "Have we met before?"

Edmund had no memory of ever meeting Gertrude of Meryl – he was certain the Narnian Monarchs had never been introduced to any Lone Island Banker except by reputation, or he would have been far more cautious in coming here.

"No, Director, I am sure I have not had the pleasure."

Her eyes traveled to the ledgers Edmund had carried, which completed the appearance of lowly clerk, bag carrier and Linch lackey. He was the junior apprentice accountant and rubbish at handball. Edmund did not think of how he was studying under Morgan as that led to inappropriate smiling at inappropriate moments.

Sallowpad, sitting silently on a roost Linch had provided for him, irritably rustled his wings, drawing attention to himself.

"You do not know everyone in the wide world, Meryl," Linch said with joviality also intended as a distraction.

They were both working to maintain Edmund's continuing anonymity. If exposed, Edmund knew he would gain the appearance of authority but lose the access, freedom, and information of this insider's view. For purely selfish reasons, he also knew that an impartial Monarch should not be literally in bed with a House's AD. Director Linch certainly could not afford the distraction of a visiting Monarch during shut in. Hosting an official Narnia presence triggered rules and disclosures that would have to be made at Conclave, and Edmund suspected Linch probably did not want to explain why a Monarch was in bed with one of his ADs, either. These official and unofficial designations were important, though Linch was pushing the full limits of that blurry distinction.

"Are we done for the night?" Linch asked his sister, with a hint of finality.

"You and I are, yes. There is, of course, more yet to be done this evening." Meryl tilted her head to the books Edmund had brought. "If you finish those tonight, send them over with the courier in the morning and we can start the review. Or, have Harold deliver them when he comes for handball."

Meryl gathered a blue-bound ledger from the table and stuffed it into her own satchel. "Thank you for agreeing to increase Linch's share of the tribute to Narnia. Perhaps the addition will keep them out of our business a while longer."

"Unlikely," Linch said with a resigned humph. "We will not hold Narnia back much longer. I think Florian will be gone by summer. They would be stupid to do anything but install one of their own in the Governor's House and by all accounts, the Narnians are not stupid."

"If you had kept Morgan from going there…" she began, then waved a hand and corrected herself. "Oh, never mind. Linch is certainly to be congratulated for Morgan seeing the opportunity in Narnia before the rest of us did."

"And as we profit, so do you, my sister. _Eventually_."

Meryl adjusted her satchel and Linch helped her into a heavy cloak. "Yes, but for all that, my concerns with Narnia remain," she said.

Edmund tried to pretend that he was not listening avidly. Sallowpad cocked his head to the side, attending as carefully. There was a faint rustle above.

"You say they are not stupid, but they fall out of the sky with no training, no background, no history, and we are to just accept they are capable of stable governance?" Meryl said. "Do they even know what it is? Never mind that as intelligent as some of the Narnians are, can a rabbit really understand a capitalization agreement?"

As happened whenever his country and subjects were maligned, Edmund had to fight the urge to leap to their defence. He glanced at Sallowpad but the Raven was sitting impassively on his roost, pretending to be a dumb bird. It was an example the King would do well to emulate. Edmund looked down and pretended a disinterested study of his notes on the Ropemakers' Guild.

"Ten years will not undo the two hundred that preceded it," Meryl finished when her brother did not join in her condemnation.

"You are impossible to please," Linch retorted gruffly. "You want guarantees of stability in Narnia before investing, but expect things to stay as they have here? Adapt or lose, Meryl."

Edmund wondered how much Linch was posturing because of his audience. The Director sounded sincere, but without Jina there, he could not be certain.

"I'm always cautious about start up ventures and so are you and Morgan is the only reason we are there at all," Meryl said.

"So it is _we_ again, Meryl."

"_Eventually_," Director Meryl replied, proving to Edmund she could deliver rejoinders as well as receive them. "After Morgan and Alan marry and she brings Archenland and Narnia to Meryl House." She paused at the door. "I shall be presenting the new numbers to the Governor on behalf of the Bankers tomorrow. Do you wish to come?"

"Making love to politicians has always been Stanleh's role. And yours." Linch held the door open for her.

"Unfortunately, Stanleh is not going. I understand he is unwell, again. Seth and Maeve gave me the Narnia tribute numbers for their House."

"You waited until you are out the door to tell me this?"

"I learned only this morning." She arched an eyebrow. "Surely you heard through Pierce?"

There was a sigh of disgust. "On that subject, Pierce and I have agreed to disagree and so do not discuss it."

"You can be so conventional, my brother."

Linch crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at his sister. He was a substantially larger person, but Meryl's confident bearing was such that she seemed taller than she was. She was the sort of person Susan would want to grown into, Edmund thought.

"It is a case study I learned from you, my sister. If I forbid it, I encourage them. Pierce knows his duty and will come to his senses eventually. Regardless, what news of Stanleh?"

"Ill, so Maeve and Seth say. Which yes, is strange, but the man is over eighty years old."

"It would be like him to spite us and die during Conclave."

Normal brothers and sisters would embrace or kiss. Linch and Meryl shook hands. "Good evening, Director Meryl," Edmund called.

"I shall see myself out," she replied. "Good evening."

This was just the sort of conversation Edmund would have dissected with Susan, with Lucy's insight, and then the three of them would make a report to Peter. Instead…

Linch turned away from the door and crossed the room in two strides.

"Rabbits really are very stupid," Willa's voice came from the top of the bookcase.

Edmund choked back on a laugh. The rivalry between Rabbits and Rats was nearly as contentious as between Canine and Feline.

The Director looked up. "Had my sister insulted Rats, I could not have let the affront pass on your behalf."

"Very unwise, Director," Sallowpad said.

It was even more difficult to refrain from laughing at hearing the Narnian Raven criticise the Linch Director for potential indiscretion.

Not giving Linch the opportunity to respond, Sallowpad turned away from the Director and spoke directly to him. "Have you met Meryl before?"

"Not that I recall," Edmund said. "I do not remember meeting any person who identified as a Lone Island Banker before Morgan."

"The Houses have obviously made a point of avoiding anything that would draw Narnia's attention," Willa said. She scrambled, head first, down the bookcase and landed on the desk. "Regular payment of substantial tributes, resolving any disputes internally, keeping Florian under your control. Very clever of you, Director."

"Thank you," the Director responded dryly.

"You're welcome," Willa replied. The Rat tended to ignore sarcasm, for she was very serious and forthright. "I do like your family, Director. Your sister is a very clever woman. My Queen Susan would get on with her very well. I will recommend she come here for training at Meryl House next year."

Linch nodded, accepting the compliment, opened his mouth, and Sallowpad interrupted.

"Director Meryl is of the late Queen Iris' family?" the Raven asked. "From Stormness Head?"

"Why do I continue to be surprised at the depth of your experience and knowledge, Sallowpad?" Linch replied. "But yes, Gertrude is a cousin of Lune's deceased wife."

It was very useful that the Director of Linch would accept impertinent conversation with a Rat and a Raven. Edmund needed to say nothing at all – he would like to show that he was as capable of probing questions and scintillating analyses as his subjects but, to maintain this plausible deniability, it was better for him to say as little as possible. Harold the Clerk, Secretary, and Bag Carrier was not a man with whom a Lone Island Director would or should exchange many words other than "Yes, Sir," "No, Sir," "Thank you, Sir," and "I understand, Sir, and will remedy that shortcoming immediately."

"What about Stanleh?" Sallowpad asked, raising a point very much on Edmund's mind. "This illness?"

Linch was opening his mouth, but Willa interrupted. "Teddy's still over there. He'll report in and we might learn more."

"Who succeeds if Stanleh dies?" Sallowpad asked.

The Director was finally able to speak but that was only because Willa was now looking over Edmund's accountings of the Seven Isles' Guilds. "Last year, the Conclave voted for Maeve, followed by Seth, to assume the Directorship," Linch said.

"Interesting that the younger daughter follows, rather than the elder son," Edmund said.

"Why?" Linch replied coolly. "We advance on merit, not blood alone. This is not Calormen. Or an _enlightened_ _Northern_ land of hereditary _Kings_."

Edmund managed to reign in the retort already forming as Sallowpad snapped his beak irritably. The Raven had no patience for this sort of argument.

"Aren't you worried about how Maeve feels about Morgan?" Willa asked, struggling to turn a page on the Shipwrights' accountings. Edmund turned the page for her.

"The Conclave thought that rivalry beneficial. Each works harder with the other to push her," the Director said dismissively.

"Jina says Maeve bitterly hates Morgan," Edmund injected.

"So what if she does? Linch countered. "Maeve and Morgan have been pitted against one another since before they could count. Stanleh and I have hated each other all our careers. It is no different. Competition produces spectacular results."

Edmund appreciated competition as well as the next person; his own relationship with Leszi was very combative. But, he had seen how anxious Morgan was whenever Maeve was involved. And Jina was concerned, so there was reason for worry.

"It is an enmity that could lead to violence," Edmund said.

The Director laughed. "We are _Bankers_, Harold of Abdon. Not Knights or soldiers." He caught himself before adding, _Kings_. "We fight our wars with clever words and well applied coin."

Edmund tried to make the obvious rejoinder, but it was better that Sallowpad spoke for him. "Humans kill for money, Director. A Human would certainly kill for a House Directorship."

Into the heavy, scowling silence that followed, Willa finally brought them back to the matter at hand. "Shipwrights accounting looks fine, Director," Willa piped in. "Do you want me to look at the other two?"

"Yes, Willa."

Edmund opened the Metalworkers ledger for Willa. That Guild's accounting had been difficult due to the valuation of all the equipment and inventory. _Depreciation tables_.

"Please, sit, Harold of Abdon," the Director said. "We will be here a long time."

* * *

The only reason Edmund was able to leave the Director before the eleventh bell was because Pierce arrived with an armful of Calormene accounts received from Stanleh. So, he staggered back to Morgan's office and, ominously, found an empty coffee urn on his desk. Morgan had, therefore, disregarded their discussion and obtained enough stimulant to keep her churning for a few more hours.

He knocked on her door.

"I'm not tired! Go away!" He heard a crunch, a muffled curse, and then, "Wait! No! Don't go!"

Edmund opened the door just as Morgan nearly lurched through it. He caught her. "Steady there."

She swayed a little. "Sorry. I got up too fast and got dizzy. I didn't mean to send you away."

"No?" He plucked a writing quill out from behind her ear.

She looked over his shoulder and took in the ledgers on his desk. Her tired smile warmed something in him that, though very weary, was proud, too. "He approved your work?"

"He did, and told me, quote, 'I find no fault in it.'"

Morgan drew her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Congratulations. That's high praise from him. "

"The highest," Edmund agreed, returning her embrace. "He made me suffer through the indignity of watching Willa carefully inspect my sums and had Sallowpad confirming my analysis that the Metalworkers had overvalued their goodwill." It was cheeky, to be sure. Linch never missed an opportunity to reinforce just how much Edmund still had to master.

"He does that," she said. "Keeps us all in our place."

"And him at the top," Edmund added.

"Would you rather get empty flattery for shoddy work?" Morgan challenged, pushing away from him.

"Do not take that tone with me," he snapped.

"Banker Morgan! King Edmund!"

"Even Kings have to do the work," Morgan raged, ignoring Jina's interruption. "Same as everyone else!"

"I am working as hard as you are!" He was nearly shouting. "Have I complained, even once, about the work you all dismiss as beneath you?"

"Please!" Jina barked. "Stop this at once!"

"And you're going to do the work without learning the basics?"

"I am learning!"

Morgan threw up her hands. "Never mind. I don't have time for this. I've got to present this in the morning and you can bet crowns to crows I won't get any mercy there." She turned around and stomped back to her desk.

He slammed the door, too exhausted to cope with Morgan's rude behavior.

"Jina! If Teddy returns tonight with anything important, wake me! I am to bed!"

Edmund said it loud enough that Morgan would hear him and stormed to his own cold room. The effect was spoiled because most of his things were in Morgan's room, so he had to slink in there to get them and then return to his own room for a good sulk.

* * *

There was a scritch at his door that his sleeping mind knew was not the natural sound of wind and storm. Edmund jolted awake, knife flying into his hand.

"King Edmund?" Jina called softly. All Narnians knew to wake a sleeping Monarch gently.

"Yes, Jina, what is it?" he asked, setting the knife down again at the desk.

"It's Banker Morgan," Jina said. "She is in need of you."

He had fallen asleep at the desk over a Rat and Crow ranting letter to Susan. He stared at the letter, not even remembering why he had been angry. Even in his groggy state, it was embarrassing to see his poor control there on the page.

"Yes, I imagine so," Edmund replied. He rose and, feeling how cold the floor was, snared a wrap from the bed. "Jina, I apologize for my behavior of earlier."

"I am glad to accept it, course, my King," Jina said, gently gracious. "Banker Morgan has made her apology as well."

The candles and lamps were burning low in the office, but all that meant was that Morgan would be bent even more closely over her work. Willa silently saluted him and Sallowpad bobbed his head. Hound, Rat and Crow had been keeping Morgan company in the dark of the night after the twelfth bell.

"Any news from Teddy?" he asked Willa quietly.

"He returned a short while ago and is with Keme in the nest. He says whatever Director Stanleh suffered seems to have passed. This evening he was well enough to yell at Maeve and Seth and to eat supper. Teddy said the fish soup was very good but needed more seasoning."

Edmund smiled at the so very Rat-like report. "Thank you both."

He pushed open the door to Morgan's office; she was slumped over her work. She would have charcoals and lead smears on her face.

He quietly went over to her desk and gently slid her notes and ledger out from under her arms. She preferred organization in reverse chronological order. He studied her work and found two minor errors probably due to fatigue that did not change her analyses, but would be embarrassing if not corrected.

Edmund made the corrections, placed the work in her satchel and set it on top of the ledger. When all was organized to her satisfaction, he put a hand on her shoulder and shook her gently awake.

"Morgan? Time for bed."

"Whaaaa?" she mumbled, jerking her head up from the desk. She blinked like an Owl roused too early. Her hands fumbled about the desk. "My notes! I…"

"I have taken care of that, Morgan. They are all organized and ready for you." Edmund put the wrap over her shoulders and steered her out of the office.

"Did you check my work? I…"

"Of course. Now, time for bed."

"Thank you, Harold."

Blearily, like drunken Satyrs, they wove their way back to her room, woolen wraps trailing behind them like a King's ceremonial robe, which this definitely was not. Morgan fell into the bed and raising her legs, he was able to remove her slippers. Edmund tossed them far enough away that Morgan would not trip over them in the morning. The manoeuvre had the feel of old habit which, after so many days run together, it definitely was.

Edmund crawled in next to her. It was too much effort to remove her gown at this point. Morgan, like the other Bankers, slept wherever, whenever, and in whatever, at that moment when crushing fatigue could no longer be ignored. The only things comparable in his experience were the long, muddy soldiers' marches to battlefields and sieges. As seasoned as he was in that regard, no engagement had ever lasted so long as this. And there was still the Conclave to come.

He leaned back against the pillows and Morgan curled next to him and completed the domestic scene by yawning in his ear.

"Thank you," she repeated. "Pierce used to put me to bed when I'd fall asleep over the Guild reports. It's nicer when you do it."

"I should hope," Edmund replied, loosening the ties on her gown so she could sleep more comfortably.

"You are Harold," Morgan said, wrapping her arm possessively over his chest. "Not father, brother, or Peter."

"And a very good thing that is for both of us," Edmund said, with a chuff of laughter that reminded him poignantly of Jalur. _Poor Tiger._ He must be in quite the state with no one to manage.

With her gown sagging and sliding, Morgan shivered in the winter chill and Edmund pulled the blanket up around her. She was losing weight. By the time of the Conclave, they would all be pale thin ghosts of themselves.

"I'm sorry," Morgan said.

"I should not have snapped so at you."

When his imagination hit him over the head with a Guild ledger, Edmund remembered to add, "And I apologize as well."

He eased them both more deeply into the warming bed. If he had not lost his temper, he would have been sleeping in it already and it would not be so chilly.

"Are you prepared for tomorrow?" he asked. Morgan always needed to talk through and empty her thoughts before she could sleep.

"I think so. Did you look at it?"

"You are proposing a futures contract and then breaking it into pieces and selling and reselling the contracts to spread the risk of a bad harvest?"

Morgan nodded into his shoulder. "I hope Maeve does not propose the same thing."

"What does Maeve have to do this?" Edmund asked, seeing anew the rivalry between the two women.

"Didn't I explain about the Ladies Lunch?"

"You mentioned the women Bankers meet. And, by the by, I met Director Meryl this evening."

"Oh, well, she's the one who sponsors the Lunch," Morgan said. "Meryl gives us a case study and then each woman presents her proposal and everyone criticizes it."

"So, _Ladies Lunch_ implies a veneer of gentility I can presume is not actually present?" If Maeve and Morgan were both present, with Meryl presiding, it sounded positively cutthroat.

"Yes," Morgan said softly. "This case study was hard, too. I don't think Maeve would try to split and share the risk the way I did. I think she'll focus on a capital infusion to upgrade the harvesting capability."

Yet more evidence of their competitiveness, which undoubtedly reached quite a height during the Ladies Lunch, and was probably further spurred on by Director Meryl. "Yours is obviously the more elegant solution," Edmund told her. "But if you do not sleep now, you will be too fatigued to present it."

She snuggled closer and kissed his cheek. "You're just saying that to be nice."

"I am saying it to get you to sleep."

"You sound like you don't approve?"

He would not argue about this debilitating competition with Maeve and how the two women had, it seemed, been manipulated into it. These were precious, dark hours before dawn. He brushed his fingers over her eyes and they closed. "Sleep now."

She did. Edmund thought he was able to nod off, but it was all a haze when he heard the first bell ring. He wearily rolled out of the bed. It was time, again, for his humiliation at the brutal hands of a Hoard of male Bankers on the handball court.

He dressed in his House of Linch-provided kit and left Morgan to sleep. Coming out of the bedroom, Jina looked up from her nest of bedding at the end of the hallway. "Good morning," Jina said quietly.

He nodded. "Good morning, Jina, and thank you for waking me and getting Morgan to bed. Are you rested?"

"More than you, King Edmund."

"I will be fine, Lady Hound." He squatted down to confer with her, eye to eye. "What is your preference for this morning?"

"Willa is in the Kitchens now and will return to make sure Morgan awakes by the second bell. They have meetings with the Director this morning."

"And then Morgan will be off to a Ladies Lunch at Meryl House."

"Do you play at Meryl House this morning, King Edmund?"

"I do."

The Hound rose and shook herself. "I will escort you there for your sport and remain with Morgan during the Lunch. Will you breakfast?"

"No." Edmund had attempted that once and nearly vomited during the handball game.

"Very well, Jina. I thank you. Will you be warm enough outside?"

"I will be fine, my King, but thank you for asking."

Filling out his ever expanding roster of titles – Just King, Knight of the Table, Count, Duke, Bag Carrier, Clerk, Secretary, Lackey, Junior Accountant – he now added Delivery Boy and collected the Guild accounts to bring them to Meryl House. There was a courier service who every morning would pick up the previous day's accountings from the Houses and see them delivered to the other Houses. Edmund decided to bring the ledgers himself – he was feeling proprietary of his handiwork and the Meryl had assumed he would do so regardless. It would continue to maintain his disguise, for a King would neither deign to do Guild accounting nor deliver the books himself.

The walk was short but very cold, under gray skies, and everything was slick from where drizzle had fallen and frozen. The Narrowhaven Banking Houses sprinkled sand on the ice-coated paths and each undertook to remove the heaviest crusting. House retainers were out with picks and shovels to remove the worst of it. Edmund could not help thinking that properly proportioned Narnian Dwarf made tools would have done a better job of it. Fortunately, by the time Morgan would make the walk one street away to Meryl House, the weather would have warmed enough for the ice to melt, so she would not risk a fall.

He was shown into a Meryl House receiving room where rich blues and ocean themes of the House's wave insignia dominated. Like Linch, the House had a strong Archenland influence. Edmund knew he was early but when they played here, Alan Meryl would let him practice and provide some helpful tips before the others arrived for the bloodletting. He set the ledgers down on a sideboard decorated with inlays of shells and blue Calormene tiles; the backboard of the fine piece had intricate carvings of the Meryl wave and dolphins.

Jina turned her head to the inner door and her ears pricked up; her tail gave a resounding thump. Whoever approached was not Alan Meryl who, for reasons Edmund could not fathom at all, none of the Narnians liked.

"Constance?" he whispered to the Hound.

Jina's tail thumped again.

The door swung open to fair Constance Meryl.

"Good morning, Harold. Alan is still breakfasting with the Director, so you must settle for me as your escort to the courts."

"Not settling at all," Edmund replied, always warmed to see Constance. She reminded him very much of some sweet combination of Lucy's easy way with people and Susan's graciousness, but with the round, rosy, blonde looks and manners of the lower Archenland minor nobility from which she had come. "It is a pleasure, as always, Constance."

"And I'm so glad you brought Jina!" She immediately got down on her knees to greet Jina, who trotted forward to greet her, tail wagging happily.

Constance did not know that she was greeting a Narnian Talking Hound as a common dog, but Jina liked the woman so well, she willingly accepted the head stroking and petting.

"Are you sure, Harold, that Jina has no Narnian in her? Somewhere?"

Constance was very perceptive. She cupped Jina's head in her hands. "Because Jina has a very knowing look to her, don't you think?"

"She is a Hound," Edmund replied, not quite answering. "They are extraordinarily sensitive Dogs."

"Oh, I know! Jina simply seems even more so! So, Jina, don't think I don't notice how you curl your lip every time you see Alan!" Constance scolded gently. "He is a lovely person, if you just give him a chance."

Edmund could see it was only with effort that Jina managed to keep her tooth in her mouth. For distraction he held out a hand out and helped Constance rise. "Have you been preparing for the Ladies' Lunch?"

She sighed and her countenance drooped as she gained her feet. "I was up most the night trying to assess and manage the risk of weather losses and the scenario has the most productive lands situated between two quarreling war lords. I found a good almanac in the library, but…" Constance rubbed her eyes and Edmund could see the ink marks on her fingers. "I found Director Meryl's case study very hard."

He leaned forward and whispered a confidence. "Morgan thought it difficult as well, Constance, and went to bed but a short time ago."

That small revelation of a burdened shared lifted her immeasurably. "Truly?"

"Truly."

Constance let out a deep breath. "Thank you for saying so. Not that it matters, over much, of course." She sighed again, so deeply, Jina pushed her nose into Constance's hand.

"I am sure you will do very well," Edmund replied, as encouragingly as he could. It was easy though to see the way of it. As brutal as the play was on the handball court, the Ladies Lunch obviously had its own sort of savagery.

"You are kind to say so, however, with both Maeve and Morgan present, it is unlikely. She smiled wanly. "They are both brilliant …"

"But can be a bit daunting for us common folk?" Edmund said.

Constance smiled and nodded. "Precisely." Shall we be off then?"

"I should see these delivered," Edmund said, indicating the ledgers.

Constance reached for the top ledger, for the Metalworkers, and paged through it carefully. "The Guilds!"

She was the first to express any enthusiasm for Guild accounting at all.

"Indeed. Shipwrights, Metalworkers and Ropemakers, all Seven Isles. My first audits," he added, still feeling ridiculously proud of the effort and that a Rat, a Crow, and a Lone Island Director had found no errors and agreed with his analyses.

"Congratulations!" Constance replied warmly. "And thank you for bringing them." Constance took the Metalworkers and he hefted the other two. "We will just take these to my office and I can start them after the Lunch."

"You seem to relish the prospect."

She flushed prettily. "I know they are not glamorous, like the enterprises of Calormen and Telmar, or the accountings for a whole nation or city. But, yes, I quite like the Guild work."

"Why is that?" He and Jina followed Constance out of the receiving room and down a wide, bright hallway dressed in warm blues. As with Linch House, Meryl House spent a fortune in lamp oil and beeswax candles.

"These Guilds make things, do things. It is _very real_, if you understand what I mean. I have been following a number of them for several years now and when you delve into these accountings, you can read their stories. It's very gratifying."

"You can see the people behind the numbers?"

"Precisely!" Constance exclaimed. She settled the ledger on her hip and pushed open a door. Constance's office was small, far smaller even than his anteroom chamber. A person's status in a House was reflected in the size and location of her office and her window views. There was barely enough room for the two of them to turn around and the only natural light came from a high, grimy, narrow window.

A portrait of Alan Meryl dominated a wall, all gleaming blues, flowing blonde hair, and white teeth. This kind, generous, well-meaning and slightly dim man was Constance's present and Morgan's future.

Edmund looked quickly at Jina. Her hair was standing stiffly on her back.

"That is an excellent likeness of Alan," Edmund said politely.

She beamed. "It is. He was so embarrassed by it." She glanced at Jina who had turned her back to the portrait.

"And is that the love of my life!" a hale voice called from the hallway.

Constance blushed deeply. "Yes, Alan! I'm in here!"

The portrait made flesh appeared in the doorway. As Alan Meryl was crafted from the same stonesmiths who wrought the Tombs of Tashbaan and Mount Pire, he blocked the light behind him from the hall. The brilliance of his smiling countenance, however, illuminated Constance's office.

"Hello, my darling!" Alan swooped down and kissed Constance lightly on the cheek. "Harold! Thank you for coming! Wonderful to see you! And Jina, too! What a good dog you are!"

_Poor Jina._ She managed to tolerate the absent pat and condescending address. She would be deserving of a special commendation and Knighting into his own Order on the return to Narnia for her service.

Edmund shook Alan's hand. "Good morning, Sir." Alan had a firm, hard grip but it was not as crushing as that of the Linch Director, or the Stanlehs.

"Harold delivered his first signed-off accountings!" Constance spoke with such glowing confidence, it made Edmund flush himself. She was as generous and sincere as Alan, though her praise was better informed.

"Congratulations, Harold!" Alan replied, awarding him a thwack that was very hearty but not as hard as Peter's knock-you-off-your-feet-into-the-river backslaps.

"Thank you," Edmund replied. "I apologize for being early, but thought to get in some drilling before Seth and Pierce arrive." He winced inwardly at the slip – _practice_ was the appropriate word to describe handball, not _drilling_.

"Excellent! I was heading down to the court myself for a warm up! Would you like a partner?"

"Partnering implies near-equality, which I do not even approximate," Edmund told the Banker. "Coaching, however, I always appreciate."

"You are being too modest, Harold. For someone who had never played the sport, you are doing extremely well. If you would partner with me, I think we'll give Seth and Pierce a real battle today."

Having seen real battles, Edmund knew very well what they were. Regrettably, the comparison between Bankers' handball and pitched fighting with Ettins, Pirates or Hags, was not as strained as might be expected.

"I would be honoured, Sir, though if you think me too modest, I think you too generous."

"Harold is always so well spoken, isn't he?" Alan said, addressing Constance. "I could get quite the swelled head listening to him!"

"You would never, and Harold is quite right and an excellent judge of character!" Constance said firmly. "But yes, Harold, I do agree with Alan and please know I mean this as the highest compliment in saying that your kindly way seems very Narnian." She glanced at Jina who was now listening attentively. "Indeed, you seem as Narnian to me as Jina."

It was the first time anyone in the Lone Islands had identified him as Narnian in manner. If Constance thought Jina as having a knowing look to her, he was coming to think the same of Constance. He would have to exercise greater care around her, but really, what was he to do? Become vile to a charming, intelligent, kindly young woman of whom his subjects thought highly and who reminded him of his own deeply missed sisters?

"I certainly take your praise in the spirit it was given. Thank you, Constance."

Alan put his hands on Constance's shoulders and kissed her forehead. "We're off now and you go finish preparing for the Lunch. Don't be nervous. You'll be wonderful no matter what."

Seeing that as his cue for a tactful exit, Edmund squeezed by them to wait in the hallway while Constance and Alan made their good bye. Through the ajar door, he could hear the tone though not the words of Constance's worry and Alan's reassurance. Alan's stalwart support for Constance made him think he should have done something more for Morgan and he felt regret afresh at having argued with her last night.

Edmund crouched down to speak to Jina whose brows were knit with worry. She was certainly hearing the conversation in the office, was very sensitive, probably feeling conflicted in her duties, and it was her nature to respond empathetically. He whispered, "Willa and Sallowpad are with Morgan so I think she has good company. Perhaps though you would like to stay with Constance?"

He was glad Constance was not there for, from her expression, Jina was obviously considering her options. The intelligence in her countenance was not that of an ordinary dog. The Hound nodded and when Alan came out of the office, Jina brushed by him and took a place next to Constance.

"Jina! Whatever are you doing?" Constance said, again getting on her knee. "You should go with Harold!" She pointed toward the door. "Go!"

Jina looked up at Constance and lay down.

Edmund held out his hands in helpless denial. "You try telling a Hound _No_! Perhaps you might be more persuasive than I!"

"Oh dear," Constance said with a laugh. "She's not Narnian dog, but Narnian _mule_."

* * *

Ten, now nearly eleven, years, of relentless drilling with Sir Hairy the Horrid and a taller, stronger, older brother, and Edmund was more than skilled at arms. He was clever and he was fast, he had excellent footwork and could see, think and exploit under pressure while Peter would often just wear the opponent down. Edmund had been trained with dagger, dirk, and short, curved, and long sword (and could fight both right and left handed and both at once, at need). He could competently handle a few rounds even with Dryads using a quarterstaff. He could run to the upmost towers of a castle, in full armor, three times in a row in hot weather, and seven in cool. He could, and had, skewered a Werewolf from a galloping horse with a lance. He could shoot long and cross bows – not as accurately as his sisters, but certainly proficiently enough to blind an Ettin – which he had done in several Northern skirmishes. He had broken the Wand of the Witch.

He had won tourneys. He could wade into a brawl and come out with nothing worse than a bruised knuckle. There was that time with the black eye, but that was because Peter had not been watching where his elbows flew.

Edmund had _killed_. _Many times_.

Tournaments, jousting, battles, fisticuffs, skirmishes, ambushes, and even Sir Leszi's insane training regimens, all had been endured. He had prevailed in all these contests – some for the honour and prestige of Narnia, some for their and his very survival.

Nothing compared to the sheer savagery of a Hoard of male Bankers on the handball court.

He was flat on his back, gasping for air. He pried open an eye and blinked back stinging sweat. Three men, two dark, one shockingly blonde, were staring down at him, concerned looks on their faces.

His mouth was moving, but Edmund was not sure if any words came out. The blood roaring in his ears blocked the sound.

"What's that, Harold?" Seth asked.

_Harold. Who is Harold? _

_Oh, right, then. That's my name._

"The point?" Edmund gasped. "Did we make the point?"

"You did!" Pierce exclaimed with appalling enthusiasm. "Brilliantly played, too. I've never seen so acrobatic a return before!"

Edmund rolled over, hoping he would not spoil the hard-won victory by retching on the waxed, wooden floor.

"Easy there," Alan said. He knelt and gently helped Edmund sit up, Seth supporting him on the other side.

"Not only did you make the point, you chest-blocked the return," Seth said, all admiration.

"Brilliant!" Pierce said again. "I've never seen anyone do that and not break a rib. You didn't break a rib, did you?"

Edmund had, in fact, broken ribs before – a crushing blow from a Troll's mace. He shook his head. "No, not broken." Bruised, certainly. _OWWWW._

"Chest block is good for the extra point," Alan said.

"We won then?" Edmund asked weakly.

Alan grinned and nodded. "A winning day for you, Harold. Your first accountings signed off and our first handball win!"

"Congratulations! On both counts!" Seth said. "Celebrating by spending a day in the infirmary is not called for. Can you stand?"

Edmund held up a hand. "In a moment." Really, the floor was very comfortable and he did not want to try becoming vertical until the court stopped spinning.

"I thought it had to be below the waist to get the extra point," Pierce said.

"No," Seth countered. "You block a shot below the waist and you carry the game."

"That's right. It's because you might not ever father children," Pierce said, then going on to add more detail than Edmund wanted to know about the first reported incidence of that injury in the game.

The thought of taking in the groin a hit from a wooden ball moving as fast as an arrow was really not something he ever wanted to hear of, think of, or experience, _ever_.

As always would happen, Seth and Pierce began arguing nuances of handball rule interpretations. The Handball Guidebook was nearly as long as, and more impenetrable than, Subtitle C of the Tax Code.

"Every game, they do that," Alan said, shaking his head at the arguing Bankers, amused. "Well played, Harold." With his supporting hand, Edmund was able to peel himself off the court floor.

The four of them left the court, three swaggering, one staggering. Pride dictated that he would rather not have been propped up between Seth and Alan when they ran into Director Meryl and the women Bankers arriving for the Ladies Luncheon in the entrance foyer of Meryl House. They were all stinking, sweaty messes. The men, that is. Not the women.

As he was still having difficulty standing upright and speaking at the same time, Edmund clung to the doorway, wishing with all his heart for willow bark pain reliever and feeling very peevish about the whole thing.

Alan, of course, was effusive and hearty. "Ladies! Welcome to Meryl House!"

The men all made their courtesies and mingled easily with the women – Alan speaking briefly to Morgan and more intimately with Constance; Pierce greeting Director Meryl, Morgan and then Maeve; Seth speaking to Director Meryl, Maeve and then to Morgan, and Constance, and more closely with a sharp looking woman in House of Sterns yellow that Edmund did not know.

As Lord, Knight, King, and brother to the two most marriageable rulers in the Known Lands, Edmund had certainly seen his share of Human courtship rituals. He even knew how to conduct a proper flirtation himself. He did nod to Morgan, but followed her lead and as she was not acknowledging their relationship here, he would not do so, either.

Alan, Seth, and Pierce were _Bankers_. _Bankers_. They were not Kings. Or Knights. Or Lords. Or Counts. Or Dukes. They did not ride horses, wield swords, or carry concealed knives. They had never killed a Giant. Or led an Army or a charge. They had never swung aboard a burning pirate ship to rescue the captives. And here they were, wading into a bevy of very intelligent, highly competitive, mostly attractive women, _who were impressed with them_! Impressed! There was not even any of that irritating hair twirling so common among silly women! There was chatting! Laughter! Flirting!

Edmund sighed, and then winced with the exertion of the stinging exhalation. He tried slumping against the doorjamb, but caught the disapproving eye of Director Meryl who frowned at his poor posture and was probably worried he would leave a sweat mark on the tapestry. This was humiliating.

_King Edmund the Just of Narnia.  
Duke of the Lantern Waste.  
Count of the Western March.  
Breaker of the Wand of Jadis.  
Accounting clerk.  
Bag carrier.  
Secretary.  
Lackey.  
Courier.  
Doorstop.  
And, possessing none of the sexual appeal of a Lone Island Banker._

* * *

To follow, Chapter 8, Two Hearts Day

* * *

Thanks so much to Snacky and Clio for their recent support and good wishes. Against my better judgment, I've posted. This chapter grew to over 17,000 words, so I'm stopping here and will post the next one soon. I'm feeling very, very protective and emotional about Jina at the moment, given the dogs in my life.

Also, the Remix challenge concluded and is posted on Archive of Our Own. I've described the story I did, a remix of Metonomia's wonderful _She Maintained This Estate_, in my Live Journal.

Thank you again to those who reviewed. It was enormously inspiring and helpful.


	8. Chapter 8 Two Hearts Day, Part 1

**Harold and Morgan: Not a Romance**  
**Chapter 8, Two Hearts Day, Part 1**  
_In which special gifts are exchanged and important sentiments are expressed.  
_

* * *

Note, the beginning will be familiar to my LJ readers. However, there are changes and added context in the talking bits.

* * *

Sleet pelted against the windows; the wind howled in from the ocean, pitching the waves high to slam against the frozen rocks of the quay outside. The antechamber to Morgan's office was well fortified, but Edmund felt even here a breeze stir against his hair.

Narrowhaven at the turn of the year was a very cold and dreary place. Narrowhaven after the turn of the year was a slightly less cold but still dreary place. He pulled the woolen scarf up around his neck and flexed his stiffening hands in the fingerless gloves.

"The third column adds to 342 per share," Lady Willa said from her seat on the table.

"Thank you, Friend," Edmund told her. He looked up to the rafter where Sallowpad roosted. "What say you, Chief?' he asked the Raven who had been watching the unfolding calculations all day into evening. "Am I right that the Buildings and Works Society in Zalindreh is paying too much out to cover the costs of that supposed river project?"

"You are, my King," Sallowpad replied. "The money is going for something else."

"Invasion planning, most likely," Willa said, cleaning a toe. "That's what I thought when I first heard of it in the Autumn." She ran a paw over her ear and rubbed her eyes. Even the Rat was tiring of the relentless pace leading up to the Conclave. "I'm glad you were able to prove it from their accounting when the Houses started sharing the books."

While the Head of the Narnian Mischief was biased in favor of bloodthirsty action, in this, they were all of one mind. The Building and Works Society was, as Morgan would say, as crooked as a dog's hind leg. It was good to see the confirmation here on the page that it was really one of the many fronts that were raising money for a Calormene faction making lots of noise about Northern conquests.

Jina, Lady Hound, lifted her head. "Vice Director Alan comes." She paused. "Carrying many, many flowers."

The mild censure in Jina's voice was reflected in the grumbling of Willa and beak snapping of Sallowpad above them. Edmund did not understand why the Narnians so disliked Alan. Granted, the long flowing blonde hair and blinding white teeth made for a spectacle, but the man was good company. Alan was genial, not especially gifted in banking or numbers, a formidable player on the handball court, and so transparently good-natured it was impossible to dislike him. Work, accounts, and clients flocked to him like Princesses to the High King. Alan had enough wit to know he could not do the work he generated and so delegated it to others. His purpose was to look good and smile and be pleasant to everyone and at these things he excelled; he would not know how to account for a tangible asset even if it hit him in the head.

With the sounds of grunting struggle in the hall, Edmund rose from his clerk's table to open the door into the anteroom.

Jina had, with characteristic understatement, managed to not convey the full of what was meant by _many, many_ flowers. Alan was struggling under the weight of, and completely obscured by, the height and breadth of an enormous pot of hothouse lilies and roses. This was no small accomplishment as Alan was himself built on something of the same model as an Ettin, though with better hygiene and manners.

"Vice Director! Allow me to assist you," Edmund said, duly slipping into his role as Harold the clerk, bag carrier, secretary, etcetera, etcetera.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Willa scurrying into her hiding place in a bookcase adjacent to his secretary's desk. Sallowpad would move into the darker shadow of the rafters and Jina continued the pretense as a dumb dog.

"Thank you, Harold," Alan said from the shrubbery. "If you wouldn't mind getting the door to Morgan's office?"

"Certainly, Sir."

As Alan passed, Jina curled her lip in distaste. He heard another irritable snap from the ceiling.

"Did you hear something, Harold?" Alan asked, carefully balancing the flowers. Really, to have acquired an arrangement like this in the dead of winter in Narrowhaven would have required a lot of advanced planning and even more money. This was very extravagant.

"Probably just the wind, Sir," Edmund replied, with a _quiet down_ signal to his Narnians in hiding. Only Linch retainers knew of the Narnians in residence and they needed to keep it that way. "Morgan is still meeting with the Director."

Edmund pushed open the door to her office and Alan stumbled in, nearly upending flowers, water, greens, and pot on to Morgan's rug.

"I know," Alan replied, heaving the arrangement on to a table. Edmund swiftly moved in to rescue her precious ledger of the Galman wine guilds before Alan spilled all over them.

"I wanted to surprise her for Two Hearts Day," Alan said. "You think she'll like them? My mother thought Morgan would rather have fifty shares in the Terebinthia Carpenters' Guild, but I thought these were so pretty."

Director Meryl probably knew better than her son what her future daughter would wish. Why would a woman want cut flowers? All they did was die. More to the point…

"Two Hearts Day?" Edmund asked.

Alan was busy arranging the flowers to their maximum advantage. Edmund found his nose itching and took a few steps back, seeming to admire the garden now blossoming in Morgan's office.

"Don't they have that in Winding Arrow, Harold?" Alan removed a large, creamy sheet of parchment from his blue and gold embroidered vest pocket and set it next to the flowers.

"No, I cannot say I am familiar with it."

"It's a day for sweethearts, betrothed, lovers, and spouses. You exchange gifts, flowers, poetry, sweets and tell the other person how special she is."

"Sounds dreadful," Edmund said feelingly, but it might just be that his eyes were beginning to water.

"You have just not found the right person to share it with! That special person who brings out your sense of gallantry and romance?" Alan cried with prodigious enthusiasm. "It's a wonderful day. I even wrote Morgan a poem. Would you like to hear it?"

Edmund took another step toward the door. "That seems something more appropriate for her ears alone, surely."

Alan shrugged with such amiability, it was impossible to be irritable with him, even if Edmund felt affronted. He could be very gallant. He was a _Knight_. Gallantry was not just one day a year. _Knight! King! _As for romance, Edmund supposed it was a useful means to achieving gratifying ends, but Morgan had been an enthusiastic partner in achieving those ends for months, and without all that messy romance. So, what made one day so special?

Edmund shut the door to the office, locking the flowers within where they would at least not trouble him until Morgan returned.

"And if Morgan merited those flowers on Two Hearts Day, what of Constance? A veritable greenhouse for your lady?" Edmund asked.

Alan absently dusted loose greenery from his fine blue cape; it matched his eyes. The man's grin was winsome as he spoke of sweet, fair Constance. "I have brought a cook to make her favorite dinner, paired with a nice Galman wine, and I hired some players for dancing. Just the two of us."

"That does sound very nice."

"You think so?" Alan looked abashed. "Nothing is really quite fine enough for Constance, but it was the best I could think of."

"I am sure she will be most appreciative," Edmund assured him.

Alan looked very relieved at the reassurances. "Thank you, Harold. I must get back to Meryl House! Tell Morgan I came by!"

He escorted Alan back to the door. "I shall, Sir. My regards to Constance and I wish you both a pleasant evening."

Edmund lit the oil lamps and sat back at his desk, determined to finish the last year's supposed income statements for the Zalindreh Building and Works. It was late, but with the Conclave approaching and the frantic reviews of the other Houses' accounts, the Linch Director and his daughter were keeping even longer hours.

Pierce had said nothing about Two Hearts Day and Edmund wondered if there was a message there. While he was often among the first to attribute nefarious means, in this case, fatigue and absence of mind were the more likely culprits. Morgan's brother had been working as frantically as his sister in the final days up to the Conclave. With the crushing schedule, Pierce had undoubtedly been distracted with how to smuggle something romantic to Maeve Stanleh and what it should be. Like Morgan, Maeve would have appreciated 50 shares in the Terebinithia Carpenters' Guild, been even more appreciative of 100 shares of the Galman Winesellers or the Zalindreh Carpetweavers, and Pierce would have been astute enough to realize it.

Pierce's silence might be signaling something more subtle as well. Neither Pierce nor the Director was especially keen on his relationship with Morgan. Yet, they knew that they could not stop Morgan in this regard and that it was not politic to interfere overmuch with their (unacknowledged) Monarch. They would not want to encourage any genuine romance for fear it would confound carefully made business plans. Morgan's eventual marriage to Alan meant her ascendency to Meryl House Directorship and that left the way clear for Pierce to advance to the Linch Directorship.

So much a to-do over nothing at all.

Though, it _was_ strange that the House of Linch favored Alan Meryl over a King of Narnia. In contrast to the dim but well-capitalized Alan, it seemed that Linch regarded Edmund as a risky start-up enterprise or an over-valued asset that relied too heavily upon intangible goodwill to even up the balance sheet.

Or, the Director was taking an even more subtle approach – work them both ragged and let fatigue and irritability takes its course. It was a strategy that Edmund would have approved of, had he and Morgan not been bearing the brunt of it. In fairness though, they were working no more harder than anyone else.

There were sounds of footsteps in the hall and doors opening.

Jina confirmed what he suspected given the hour. "Food was just delivered to Banker Morgan's rooms." That meant Morgan would likely be returning soon.

Unasked, the Hound rose, pushed open the door, and went to investigate.

He heard voices in the hall and Jina returned, with Morgan following behind her. He rose quickly to help Morgan out of her heavy, green banker's robe.

"Thank you, Harold." She put the ledgers from her meetings on his desk – whether they sorted through it now or tomorrow would depend on any number of things.

"All is well, King Edmund," Jina said quietly. "And in answer to your question, yes, Banker Morgan, today is fine, and the next three days at least by my judge."

"Thank you, Jina." Morgan looked up and held out her arm. With the invitation, Sallowpad flapped down and landed. "Keme and Teddy went straight to the Kitchens after the meeting with the Director. You all can join them there, if you like."

Willa scrambled out from the bookcase at the prospect of food. The Narnians all looked to him, but Edmund nodded. Rat and Hound trotted out for their evening meal; Raven winging after them.

Edmund shut the door as Morgan crossed over to look at his day's accounting spread out on the secretary's desk.

"It is as we expected," he told her. "You were right. Now that I know what to look for, it is a very straightforward scheme. The Zalindreh Building and Works Society is a front, pushing monies to that armsmakers' guild."

"Who is arming Prince Namavar's faction," Morgan said.

"So it seems, yes." The rumors Peter had heard over the previous summer in Tashbaan were one thing, but here it was, all spelled out in black ink and parchment. Prince Namavar, or a group controlling him, was making a play to be named the Tisroc's heir. The faction was no friend of the North, but it was not yet clear if they would turn their sights on Narnia and Archenland to curry favor, or if they would make an attempt against the Calormene cavalry, which was the part of the vast Army loyal to Rabadash. Not that Rabadash was necessarily any better – but Namavar was plainly much worse and his pressure on Rabadash could force the current heir to be more aggressive to defend his claim.

"Looks like a classic Stanleh scheme." Morgan picked up the writing charcoal on the desk out of habit, preparing to correct his errant sums and analyses. Edmund knew, however, she would find no fault. "Have I said before how much I really hate that House?"

"You have mentioned your dislike, yes. Though, I might have thought it tempered given your brother's continuing interest in that House's Senior Banker and heir?"

"Maeve," Morgan muttered under breath. "He swears she's very pleasant to him and it's only with me that her worse comes out."

"That can happen," Edmund admitted. He had come to believe that the antipathy between two women was largely explained because they had been pitted against one another all their lives by their Houses, very much as tourney champions, or beasts battling against one another in the ring. They had never had the choice or the chance of being anything but rivals. "Perhaps Pierce is blinded by Maeve's charm and wit." Beauty, Maeve certainly had, if one liked that predatory look.

Morgan snorted. "No accounting for attraction, I suppose."

"Seriously, do you believe this is the work of Maeve and Seth?" Edmund stared at the page as Morgan ran her finger along the columns, tracing the incoming funds and where they were going. It was as Constance had said of the benign Island guilds – there were stories told in the records of these small enterprises. This one was very worrisome, especially if multiplied. "Insofar as the Stanleh Director is concerned, it seems he has been capable of all manner of dishonest practices, from Lord Bar's embezzlement to Prince Cor's kidnapping and that pyramid scheme you uncovered. His mark is all over this as well. But what of his next generation? They are very aggressive and sharp, but do you think they are corrupt? "

Morgan was silent for so long, he wondered if she had heard him, or had heard him and then become distracted with something else.

"Morgan?"

"The only way to know for certain is an audit from the inside, and a deeper, harder look than Teddy can do. Which doesn't answer the question, I know." She sighed and with her lead, followed an inflated sum supposedly paid for bricks that was rolled over to an armsmaker in Teebeth. "Maeve even helped Pierce audit that Zalindreeh pyramid scheme over the summer. That's when they become lovers."

So, was Pierce deluded and Maeve the seducer? Or, had she been dealing in good faith? Edmund did not think Pierce would be diverted from loyalty to House and client over a sexual relationship; Morgan certainly had not. Yet, Maeve's loyalty to her own House surely must be as great as that of Morgan and Pierce to theirs.

"For Pierce's sake, I want to trust Maeve. And I like Seth well enough. But, I'm not going to be stupid about it, either."

"Seth and Maeve learned the trade from Stanleh," Edmund added.

"Yes."

At a point in the not distant future, King Edmund the Just was going to pass judgment concerning all the Houses, and Stanleh most especially. As Linch had told Meryl, change was coming and Edmund would be the agent of it. He liked and respected Seth Stanleh, he respected Maeve and, as Morgan did, wished Pierce such happiness with her as they could eke out. Personal feelings aside, if necessary and without regret, he would remove the elder Stanleh Director and the House's leadership, and dismantle and liquidate the House's holdings. He was not deluded though – such an act was tantamount to Narnia declaring war upon her own protectorate. He would rather leave the House of Stanleh in the hands of an honest caretaker, if one could be found.

Evidently satisfied with his work, Morgan tossed the charcoal back on to the desk and walked toward her office. Edmund had the sense to stand well away as she opened the door.

She was silent for a moment. Then, "In the name of Zardeenah's three …"

Morgan could not finish the shouted oath learned from the Narnian Dwarfs for she exploded with a powerful sneeze.

She slammed the door and spun around. "Harold! WHAT in Tash's hell!"

More swearing, courtesy of Narnian Dwarfs, probably learned during the beetle racing.

"Alan delivered the garden to your office while you were out," Edmund injected before she directed her anger at his poor, and wholly blameless, person. Granted, he could have removed them, but the flowers _were_ a gift. Now, if the Vice Director's gift had been something Morgan might have truly wanted, like fifty shares in the Terebinthia Carpenters' Guild, he might have done something about it. Or not. _Really, better not to dwell on_ _that_. _On that path lies romance._

The ire went out of Morgan like a puff of pollen in the breeze. "Alan?" she said weakly.

"There is a note with poetry as well, though I do not recommend going in to retrieve it unless you first hold your breath." Edmund brandished her Galman wine guild ledger by way of explanation of Alan's well-meaning gift. "I did not see it my place as your lowly clerk-secretary-bag carrier to correct a Vice Director of Meryl."

"A poem?"

"I declined his offer to have it read to me."

Morgan fell back heavily against the door to her office with a weary nod. "Have I ever told you that he reminds me of your brother?"

"Is it the teeth?" Edmund asked. "Or the hair? The overabundance of charm and affability?"

Morgan scrubbed her eyes and shuddered. "The… everything."

Peter was far sharper than Alan, but Edmund kept that observation to himself. The important point was that in Morgan's considered and intelligent estimation, he (naturally) bore up well in the comparison. To the Linch Director, he was a dubious investment, but Morgan continued to admire his contract drafting skills, mental acuity, and person, and that was all that mattered.

Edmund reached for a parchment scrap and wrote a note for the crew who would come in to clean in the morning. "I shall just tell housekeeping to share the flowers amongst the staff, with your good wishes."

She snorted. "They'll know who is behind _that_, Harold."

"Probably," he admitted. "But, at least your office shall be clear of pollen when you return tomorrow morning and we both earn a modicum of good will."

Morgan pushed everyone about her as hard as she pushed herself and as hard as her father pushed her. Edmund found he garnered tremendous sympathy from those who found Morgan difficult – he personally did not find her drive distressing and in fact enjoyed its consequences in personal contexts. The advantage to training under Sir Leszi also meant that anyone else was kind, gentle, and effacing by comparison.

She pulled herself up from her slump against the office door with a sigh and returned to stare at the day's work on his desk.

"I was wondering…"

"Yes?" Edmund set the note on the bookcase.

Morgan fiddled with the charcoal again and absently organized the financials into reverse chronological order. Finally, as if it were a pronouncement of great portent, she muttered, "Dinner?" ending the query on an odd and hopeful note that was very misplaced given their arrangement. With whom else would he dine except Morgan or going to the Kitchens and joining the Narnians?

Still, he had become adept at filling in the gaps in Morgan's speech and she had been trying to be more communicative even as she was unable to communicate coherently. To give her the benefit of the doubt, he had to assume that "Dinner?" would have, for a normal, conversational person, been prefaced by, "After so long a day, I thought you might be hungry. Would you care to join me for dinner?"

"Certainly."

For all that she extended the invitation, Morgan seemed reluctant to make the trip down the hall to her rooms. He usually found her lip biting very provocative. This evening, however, it seemed nervous preoccupation. If Jina had been about, the Hound would have been able to explain to them both what Morgan was trying to communicate and could not. Without that advice, he would just have to muddle through it and hope he picked up the right cues without any yelling or slamming doors.

He held the door to her rooms open for her, but Morgan awkwardly hesitated and hung back in the entry. Edmund had to precede her in. Looking about, he saw that the small table had been already set.

It was the food itself that both brought him up short and the reason for Morgan's peculiar behavior became clear. She had arranged plain fare – bread, radishes, a little cold, cured meat, and cheese. There was true butter, not Calormene oil. There was but one plate, for them to share. The simplicity contrasted starkly with the lavish meal that Alan had described for fair, sweet Constance. Alan had also procured a greenhouse worth of flowers for Morgan. For their very humble meal, Morgan had managed to find three misshapen, greenish, out of season strawberries – probably from the same hothouse. The bottle of wine was Narnian, not Calormene or Galman, and near impossible to find in the Lone Islands at all. Morgan did not even drink wine.

He now recalled the afternoon in the stable yard with Peter, barefoot and trying to avoid Susan's murderous mare, the Hell Bitch, as his sister had relayed the tale. A Puppy, the son of Jina and Ibiza, had snuck into the Kitchen and stolen the roast haunch intended for the evening banquet.

_"And Cook?" Edmund had managed to ask through his laughter. _

_"Quite overcome. I have sent her to bed with a willow bark pain reliever and strict orders not to boil a single potato. We will not see her until tomorrow noon."_

_"So, a Narnian occasion then?"_ _Peter had asked._

"_We shall eat on the lawn, whatever is leftover from today, no utensils, with each person to wash his or her own plate and glass. If we all drink enough wine and ale, we shan't miss the meat at all, and no one shall even hear the twenty Dwarfs snoring in the tilting field."_

Morgan had tried to recreate the simple meal of that Narnian spring occasion in the dead of the Lone Islands' winter gale. Their first night together had followed.

Edmund pulled out a chair from the table. "If it please you?"

Gracelessly, Morgan fell into the seat.

"If I may?" He knelt next to her and gestured to her feet. Morgan nodded, still chewing nervously on her lip. Edmund removed her slippers. "Surely, you recall that we do not wear shoes at a Narnian occasion such as this fine one that you have so thoughtfully arranged?"

"You like it then?" Morgan asked, sounding very small and uncertain. Edmund again wished Jina were there to interpret.

"I do, very much. And your part in bringing it about, that much more. Plainly, I must reciprocate."

Pushing up her skirt, he peeled off her stockings, set a kiss on the inside of her knee, and let his hands linger on her firm legs.

She leaned forward with a relieved, happy sigh and wrapped her hands around his neck. "What about number nine?"

Morgan's suggestion referred to her very well worn book of Calormene illustrated erotica. Having thoroughly investigated volume one over the last few months, they had been trying in vain to locate volume two. It would probably require a trip to Tashbaan.

"Nine requires fruit, and more than those precious strawberries on the table you managed to procure. Where are we going to find fruit now?"

"Maybe a root vegetable from the Kitchens instead?"

Edmund's imagination considered this, and decided it was willing to give it a go. His intellect, however, was not at all fond of winter squash and did not like the implications for radishes.

"I thought we agreed to swear off foodstuffs after the problems with the sweet cream and honey? The _ants_? The ant _bites_? The Ant_eater_?"

She giggled. "Mrs. Furner taking you to task for the mess?"

"Anyone who believes a King is master of his Castle has never endured a lecture by an irate housekeeper."

"What about twelve?" As she asked, her hands began searching and her cool fingertips finally met his warming skin, under the collar, beneath the hem, at the tie and the cuff.

"Have we yet determined which end is up for that one?" With illustration twelve, his intellect had calculated the time it would take to construct the necessary apparatus and deemed it prohibitive. His imagination had been lobbying for consideration of a substitute that might be found in the carriage house. Or, in a company of traveling tumblers. It was too cold, dark, and late to find the carriage house and there were no tumblers in residence at the House of Linch.

"Perhaps some other time." His intellect and imagination tussled and compromised. "Might I propose eighteen?"

"Oh," Morgan whispered in a small, breathy way that blasted into his ears and plummeted straight down.

"Quite," Edmund managed. "If you will allow me, I need to be properly Narnian about this as well." He twisted about on the floor to remove his own boots. Her roving hands continued their provocative explorations and _going Narnian_ was fast becoming an imperative.

"No shoes, and no corsets," Morgan reminded him.

With his own last impediments to going Narnian removed, Edmund shifted back toward her and closed the distance for a thorough tactile examination. It was a good thing dinner was uncooked, temperate, and would await their leisure and completion of illustration eighteen.

"Trust, but verify as you have so often taught me. I must confirm the corset's absence to assure continuing compliance with the terms of our contract."

"And if I am violating its terms?"

"Punitive measures," Edmund told her. He was easing her bodice down to undertake the necessary confirmation, when Morgan cruelly interrupted his plans.

She leaned back in her chair, now impossibly out of reach. Edmund did not necessarily mind his position on the floor, as it was a prerequisite to performance of illustration seven. It was Morgan's tone that was concerning.

"Punitive measures?" she scoffed. "And just what punitive action could you possibly take against the supposed breaching party that would not also irrevocably damage pursuit of _your_ interests?"

"Apart from performance of number eighteen?"

"You have already agreed to that, Harold. Remedies for my possible breach are independent of _that _obligation."

He knew just how to erase the arch tone of hers. "I shall read the contract to you so that you might learn it better."

Her eyes widened with shock and awe. Morgan's _"Really?" _came out as an excited and very satisfying squeak. "Truly? All of it?"

"Every single proviso and warranty. And, I shall do so prior to executing upon number eighteen."

He was prepared to be magnanimous on the point. He doubted Morgan would be able to withstand an oral recitation beyond Section IV and her enthusiasm thereafter would be all the more heightened. He could probably leverage her compromised judgment to finagle performance of illustration thirteen without any further compensation. Proving the point, Morgan shot out the chair and tripped over him in her haste to reach the contract they kept at the bedside table. She stumbled into the bed, precious parchment clutched in her hands.

Edmund climbed to his feet, rubbing his arm absently where she had struck. He would probably have a bruise tomorrow.

He stood at the end of the bed, watching as Morgan attempted seduction without doing damage to her person, her clothing, or objects in her vicinity. She hitched her skirts up and a sleeve and her hair were already coming down. She had even manufactured a contractual breach by wearing a corset that now peeped through her gaping bodice. She typically did not wear a corset yet had donned it when she dressed that morning in anticipation of this evening, knowing that its presence and removal would merit his special attention. For that foresight, Illustration four was warranted, after the reading of the contract and prior to eighteen.

Edmund very much wished to continue this progressive dishevelment to its appropriate conclusion. Still, if anything, these seductive efforts, coupled with the table set for a Narnian occasion, made him pause. To be sure, wine, stale bread, removal of a corset, and achievement of illustration eighteen were all excellent ways to celebrate a day in Narnian style – with added verisimilitude if there was animal hair in the butter. This, however, was the Lone Islands and different customs and expectations applied.

"I did not know today was a holiday," he said, feeling awkward and uncomfortable about it all. "If you would rather, we might go somewhere?" As his imagination selfishly whinged, he added, "Later, perhaps? To the inn? Or the club?" Edmund concluded doubtfully.

They had not done that sort of thing at all, but he had heard both Pierce and Alan speak of taking their lovers to these places. Maintaining an appearance of casual disinterest in one another outside the House meant little opportunity for entertainment other than what they themselves invented.

Morgan did not even look up for she was already engrossed in her blunt, abject admiration of the product of his contracting draftsmanship. "It's all too crowded tonight," she said with a shrug, turning a page. "We wouldn't be able to get in anywhere."

This made it worse. They might not have left the House, but he could have arranged something to be delivered to her. Missing a day like this was not a mistake Susan or Peter would have made. "I had never heard of the Two Hearts Day until Alan delivered the flowers for you," Edmund admitted. "Pierce did not tell me of it either."

"It's a silly day," Morgan said dismissively. "For romantics. Not people like us."

Edmund wondered what Jina would say if she had heard Morgan speak so. He further wondered what Jina would have said upon sensing his own unexpectedly confused and maybe even disappointed reaction to Morgan's offhand comment that still did not seem entirely credible given those three hothouse strawberries on the plate and the hard- to-find Narnian wine. Had he caught Morgan in a rare lie? Or, maybe Alan Meryl had been correct and all that was needed was the right person to be romantic with?

Morgan made it easier to shove such inconvenient and disturbing thoughts aside as _not relevant_. She lunged forward and grabbed his shirt front so hard, he felt the ties and button strain. "Read it to me, Harold. _Now_."

"You would not prefer poetry? I understand it is more appropriate for today."

Her look of horror answered that question, to his relief.

"Harold, your reading of courtship contracts and tax codes _is _poetry to me."

Edmund pushed the misgivings aside and allowed Morgan to draw him into the bed they shared. He plucked the parchment from her hands before there were paper cuts, and pulled her close. Morgan settled against him with a lusty, contented sigh. She twined her foot around his ankle and her hand eased between tangles of cloth, searching for and finding the bare skin of his hip.

He began, "Section One, General Statement of Purpose. On this sixth day in the month of…"

* * *

With the completion of illustrations thirteen, four, and eighteen, half execution of twenty-two, and the reading of the contract almost to Section V – Morgan's fortitude had surprised him – Edmund at least had worked up an appetite. They sat together on the bench in her room and, for the first time since Peter, Susan, and Lucy had ridden all those weeks and weeks ago into Cair Paravel in the middle of the night, the two of them shared a plate, bare ankles twined together, with one shirt and a bed linen between them. The strawberries were so tart, Morgan spit them out; Edmund managed one and a long kiss sweetened their bitter.

The wine was greenish yellow and very young, but his imagination would have strangled him if he had been anything but effusively grateful. Better still, Morgan was wearing his shirt and naught else; she was thoroughly rumpled, looked very satisfied, and he was the one who had induced that most sated state.

Edmund buttered a piece of bread and handed it to Morgan. "You are not eating enough," he told her. "And, if you miss the experience, we could ask the Rats to come in and leave some hair behind so that this would be truly Narnian."

Morgan poked at her food and actually put some of it in her mouth. "Leaving out the hair and feathers is a concession to the fact that we are in the Lone Islands, I suppose."

The cultural divide widened again. "I did not know of the day, Morgan. I am sorry."

"It's fine, Harold. It's not as if I've celebrated it before much anyway. And you gave me something better than flowers."

While it was generous of her to say so, Edmund did not think that simultaneous accomplishment of illustrations thirteen and four was even near equivalent to the effort required for finding a garden of hothouse flowers in mid-winter. Maybe Morgan deserved something more? His intellect proposed 50 shares in the Terebinthian Carpenters' Guild. His imagination was too disgusted to even respond and then became diverted when she slid an arm around his waist. Edmund shrugged it off and put her wandering hand back on the table.

"Don't get distracted. Eat."

"I am curious if Pierce managed anything for Maeve," Morgan said, picking up a radish and studying, but not actually eating, it.

"Perhaps he found a nice cactus for her?"

Morgan laughed then turned serious. "I feel badly for him. I tried to tell him that just because I can't stand her doesn't mean they can't be lovers, and I'd try to not mock everything she says, but it came out all wrong."

"Yes," Edmund managed to say and keep a serious expression. "I can see why that would be a difficult message to convey."

"You're laughing at me," Morgan said accusingly. There was the sound of a plunk and the radish disappeared. The Rats would come in her room later and find the food dropped.

"A little," Edmund admitted, and softened the blow with a kiss to her temple. "And to concede it before you say it, you are right, and I have my own contentious relationships and ill speech as well. It is only…"

"What?" She still sounded peevish, but really, telling Pierce that she would try to be less derisive to Maeve was tactless even for Morgan.

"You and Maeve are combatants in a war that dates back generations. You never had a chance to be anything but adversaries."

Morgan stirred her ale with a finger then licked the drops off. Normally his imagination would be enthralled. However, this issue concerned him. Destructive rivalry, childish envy, and acting stupidly in furtherance of them were things Edmund recalled with great pain and regret. It was different; but what Morgan and Maeve felt was probably very similar, as well.

"What ones have you had? I mean, besides Sir Leszi?"

"Susan and I always compete to see who is the most clever; there is no rancor to it but we both prefer to be right all the time." He hesitated, wondering if this was something he could confide, for he had never spoken of the wretched youth he had been, except to Aslan and Merle, his first Guard, dead for so long.

Edmund took a deep breath. "And, with Peter," he finally managed just as the silence had begun to stretch too far and long. "There was a time when I bitterly resented him."

Morgan frowned. "Really? I don't see that at all. I mean, not that I would see much of it, but you and Peter seem very close."

"Now, we are. But it was not always so."

She reached over and touched the signet ring, gently tracing it and the place on his chest where it rested. "If I say anything, it will come out all wrong and you'll get angry."

"Try, and I promise to apprehend the sentiment rather than the words."

"You sure? I'll get it wrong."

He wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed it gently. "I trust you."

Morgan let out a deep breath and he could see the effort as she sorted through the thoughts racing through her mind. "Your brother does cut that magnificent figure and all that. He's attractive and impressive and people do notice it. He really embraces a room when he walks into it and everyone wants to know him. And he…"

"Now would be a good time for the _but as for you Edmund_," he injected before Morgan went somewhere they both would regret her saying.

She smiled and nodded. "Right, thanks. But, as for you, _Edmund_, you're…"

He put a finger to her chin, trying to tilt her eyes up and away from the signet ring, to his own. They slid away. "I am what?" he prompted. "Besides, not brother, father, or Peter?"

"You are brilliant," Morgan finally said. "You're shining and brilliant in ways that Peter isn't and brilliant all on your own, too. And anyone who does not see it is a great fool."

His intellect was very pleased with her words; his imagination liked it as well, but was hoping for something more like, "exponentially more attractive than any other, including but not limited to, High Kings and Lone Island Bankers."

"Thank you, my…" Something within him strangled what might have come out. He kissed her hand. "Without Jalur to keep me humble, you will have to tell me if I become unbearably smug with such compliments."

"I miss Jalur,"' Morgan said mournfully. "I miss them all, really. Even the Otters."

After a long, sad pause, where Edmund realized something reciprocal was called for, he admitted slowly, "I do as well. Peter, Susan, and Lucy, especially."

Morgan leaned her head on his shoulder and he held a piece of cheese for her until she took it and slowly began eating it.

"I'm sorry. We'll be done here soon, and then you can go home to them."

He nodded and sipped his wine, thinking that it was just the sort of drink that to excess would give him a blinding headache. Seeing her smile, he took a second, deeper drink.

"On my return, I shall import to Narnia vast accounting knowledge, the game of smashball and Two Hearts Day."

Morgan reached for her ale, but as it was only half full she was able to sip from it and return it to the table without a spill. "You don't have anything like this in Narnia?" she asked. "A special day for couples?"

"Among Humans, no, not that I know of. The native Narnians have all sorts of complex courtship rituals – dancing and display that goes on for days, nest building, singing, and of course, the yowling."

He felt another pang. Being so far away meant he would not see the first weeks of Narnian spring. The pollinating Dryads he would not miss, and it was impossible to sleep late when the male Birds would be singing before dawn. Still, it was a special time he would not see.

"Yowling?"

He shook off the melancholy. "The Felines are very vocal. Also, during courtship, there is often ritual posturing combat between many Narnian males."

"Like smashball?"

"Precisely," Edmund agreed, letting her tease him because truly, his game was abysmal. "Though I cannot say I have considered smashball a courtship ritual as I am usually concentrating less on impressing you and more on not losing my head to a ball moving faster than a crossbow bolt."

"So not that different then," Morgan said. "Though, of course, most Narnian courtship rituals precede mating, which then precedes offspring."

"You heard our prickly Physician's lecture on the subject?"

"I did!" Morgan always gushed when the Porcupine was mentioned. "Those scale models he uses are astounding!"

Edmund laughed and accepted this implicit compliment as well. "The models were my inspiration. Susan was horrified. Jalur explained to me, very patiently, that it was in fact not the mechanics of primate courtship that were so confounding to the Narnians but how we insist on making the simple act of mating so complex."

If complexity was in the nature of the challenges posed by illustration eleven, his imagination and intellect were enthusiastic to overcome them. Other courtship challenges were best left to those motivated to engage in them; Edmund had no interest in, and really an intrinsic fear of, pursuing them.

"It's odd, I mean you never talk of anyone else. And I never heard Lucy say anything, either. Are your parents dead?"

She could be so awkwardly blunt, especially without Jina to correct her. In this case, however, there was no emotional pain associated with her question, and it was logical to ask given that today was one of couples and courtship and he had been living in the Warren of the Banking Houses where everyone was related by blood or marriage. However, it always took effort to think of _before_. They had come through the Wardrobe, but they only knew that because Mr. Tumnus remembered Lucy telling him of War Drobe and Spare Oom. Those places were not on any map of the Known Lands.

Into the lengthening silence, Morgan said stiffly, "I'm sorry, I…"

Edmund reassured her with a touch to the arm. "No, it is fine; you are not paining me. The succinct answer is that none of us remembers where we came from very well at all." He closed his eyes, trying to capture the elusive, gray vision. "There was a large city, a terrible war, and dangerous things falling from the sky and a country house where we were safe."

Opening his eyes again, Morgan was staring.

Shrugging, Edmund replied, "I know. It all makes no sense. Perhaps there were Gryphons dropping boulders and I do not even know what I mean by a 'country house.'"

"So the story is true? You just appeared one day and broke the winter?"

"All true. We came through a door by Aslan's Grace, and were suddenly in the Western Wood, near the Lamppost, up to our knees in snow." He squinted with the mental effort and finally managed to add, "It was not snowing in the other place, where we came from."

Strange to first tell her of his old rivalry with Peter only to have it now lead to the dreadful consequences of that resentment. But that, he would not discuss. Unlike the hazy recollections of before, his memories of Jadis were horridly and perfectly sharp. He quickly took another swallow of the wine to wash away the taste of her magiked sweets. By comparison, this true, Narnia wine was from Bacchus himself.

"What of you? Do you mind me asking? I know that the Meryl is your aunt? But what of your mother?"

Now Morgan shrugged and shredded a crust of bread on the plate. "I don't mind talking about it, either. We see mother occasionally. She manages her Lord's estate in the Pire-Archen River Valley."

The language sounded very deliberate, but not bitter or angry – _her Lord's estate_. "And Gertrude Meryl is her sister?"

Morgan nodded. "Gertrude took over Meryl House and its titles and Directorship when her husband died. Mother lived here, but found a higher and better use for herself and went to Archenland."

"And that higher and better use?"

"What a woman is most revered for in Archenland. Giving birth to second sons."

Now _that_ sounded _very_ bitter. And angry. "Ahhh," Edmund said simply. "But, of course."

Morgan glared at him, prepared to take offense; Edmund was learning and soothed her heat by stroking her cheek. "I understand precisely what you mean."

"You do?"

He traced her face and pushed her flyaway hair back. "Susan has turned down offers from Archen Lords for that very reason. Narnia values Archenland greatly, and I do think King Lune and those of his closer circle more enlightened. But, there is no denying that many parts of Archenland do not value females in the same way that Narnia does."

Morgan nestled closer and, this time, when she eased her hand around his waist, he let it remain there. "Thank you," she whispered. "I don't like to talk about it."

And that was as close as they could come to what was implicit in the discussion. Women as chattel, valued most for their ability to bear sons. He was not sure that the practices of the Banking Houses' _joint ventures_ were that much more preferable. Yes, Morgan and Alan were entering into this as consenting, competent adults, neither was abusive, the property and independence of each was retained, and Morgan would assume the power and leadership of Meryl House. Yet, she was also expected to bear children, whether Alan's or another man's, for the future of that House and her own. As in Narnia herself, the cultural norms of male inheritance and rule did not automatically apply in the Lone Islands; Morgan was esteemed for more than her dumb broodmare capacity. Yet, still it operated on a system of progeniture. He could not condemn the practice; Susan and Peter both felt the same duty.

"Did Lucy ever tell you the story of the first, and only, time we attempted to keep her from doing what she willed because she was female?"

"No, I've not heard it," Morgan said in a voice that was thicker than her usual.

She rubbed her cheek on his shoulder; Edmund ignored the slight dampness he felt. He slid a hand beneath the shirt –his shirt – that she wore and caressed her back.

"Lucy wished to begin training with Sir Leszi, as Peter and I were. And, I will have you know that we were hard pressed to come up with any sensible argument against it when Briony was pleading the case, in which Dalia, and Wrasse, and Eirene, all joined."

Morgan giggled. "Briony growled, didn't she? And did Eirene threaten to kick you, or did she just twirl that big sword thing she carries?"

_Big sword thing_. Edmund sighed inwardly. Even if he wished to woo Morgan with ritual posturing combat of the sort he had rigorously trained at for over ten years, she would never appreciate it.

"You see the problem? I do not ever recommend saying, 'But, Lucy is a girl! She _cannot_ _do that_!' to a she-Wolf or a Centauress!"

Morgan flew at him so suddenly they nearly toppled off the bench. They were in a tangle of linen and limbs but Edmund managed to get a hand on her hip to steady her.

The kiss was sound, long, and passionate. "Time to complete twenty-two," Morgan breathed in his ear.

"Happy Two Hearts Day, Morgan."

"Happy Two Hearts Day, Harold." There was a long pause and then she corrected herself. "Edmund."

* * *

It had been neither a wholly Lone Islands evening, nor wholly a Narnian one, but it had been very good all the same. Their contentment continued into the morning, for no one roused them at the first or even second bell. With the sounds of staff moving about the halls, Morgan began to stir and Edmund knew they could not stay abed all morning. The House was giving them their privacy but there were limits to what could be politely ignored. If the Director came looking for his daughter, it would be preferable to be wearing something other than a single shirt between them.

Willa met them at Morgan's office and they made their way to the Kitchens. He wanted tea, Morgan wanted coffee, and Willa wanted food. Through the glazed windows lining the hallway, a weak sun filtered through.

"Any news, Friend?" Edmund asked the Rat. In Narnia, Willa would have greeted him every morning for his daily security briefing while Jalur prowled in a dark corner.

"It has been a quiet. Everyone seems to be getting a late start."

"Where is Jina?" Morgan asked.

"She ate and went out for a walk with Sallowpad," Willa replied. "Keme and Teddy are in the Kitchens."

They greeted the Bankers and staff and joined Pierce at a table in the dining room. Morgan's brother greeted them absently. He did not seem especially content and was listlessly dipping toasted bread in Calormene oil.

"Are you well?" Edmund asked quietly as Morgan went to find herself a coffee cup.

Pierce shrugged. "I'm fine. Disappointed, but fine. The evening was not as Maeve and I wished."

For obvious reasons, Pierce was very tight-lipped about the nature and extent of his association with Maeve. To Edmund's eye, Seth, Morgan, Pierce, Alan, and Constance all paid little attention to such private things – so long as it did not interfere with business or constitute a breach of an agreement. Still, Edmund knew that the Linch Director did not support Pierce's relationship with Maeve and he doubted that the Stanleh leadership was any more enthusiastic.

Quietly, Edmund asked, "Which Director foiled the plans?"

Pierce stirred a shocking amount of sugar into his coffee, took a sip, grimaced, and added more. "_This time_ it was the Stanleh. He has been ill over the shut in, but last night was feeling well enough for a lockdown so everyone would pull an all-nighter. I cannot argue with the priority," Pierce said with an apathetic shrug. "We're all busy and no House can fall behind. Seth tried to cover for her, but there was too much work."

He took another sip of his coffee and pushed the toasted bread and olives to the side. "I suppose we were stupid thinking we'd be able to continue here as it had been before."

"You mean in Zalindreh, during the audit?" Morgan had said that was when the relationship started and Edmund could understand very well what Pierce meant. He and Morgan would probably never recapture those idyllic Narnian summer days, either.

Pierce nodded. "I'd always thought Maeve was horrid, and everyone thinks it was just that we were lonely and away from home." Edmund wondered if Pierce was delivering a message, but if so, it was obscure. "And yes, that's probably why it started, but it takes more than that to keep something alive." Pierce's voice turned defensive. "And there would be something if everyone left us alone and didn't keep trying to kill it."

"Yes, I understand that," Edmund finally said, finding the conversation was turning uncomfortable. Again, he felt there was a message here for him, and was not certain how to best respond.

At least recognizing the quandary they were backing into, over the rim of his coffee cup, Pierce said, "It's uncommonly good of you, _Harold_, to not call me out for hypocrisy."

"Insofar as Morgan and I are concerned, you are assuming too much." Edmund shoved aside as _not relevant_ those three greenish strawberries, the young Narnian wine, and the effort taken to acquire them.

Morgan returned to the table, walking carefully, holding her empty cup in both hands. Edmund took it from her and she slid on to the bench next to him. He felt Pierce watching the whole of their manoeuvre and wondered what he thought and if this was the sort of thing that was leading to too many assumptions. But he did want to save Morgan the broken cup or the spill, and so Edmund preemptively lifted the coffee pot and poured. Only the dregs sloshed out into her cup.

"Pierce!" Morgan scolded. Her tone was identical to that of any older sister to a younger brother.

"Sorry!" Pierce cried, starting to rise. "I was drowning my sorrows!"

"I will get you a fresh pot," Edmund said, waving Pierce back down. He would rather fetch coffee for Morgan than continue a conversation about not-romance with Pierce.

Edmund tracked down one of the cooks in the Kitchens, and dodged the staff scurrying around and about the open hearth. With a fresh spurt of homesickness, he reflected that Cook would have chased him out with a cleaver and Mr. Hoberry would have died of embarrassment if his Monarch had attempted to refill a coffee urn.

The mission was easily accomplished – the Bankers' food was monotonously Calormene, but they brewed good coffee and tea and in large quantities. He begged for a fresh coffee pot and was able to fill his own tea cup. Keme and Teddy were in a corner, predictably near the larder, contentedly gnawing on cheese rinds. The Rats had been spending a lot of time together and he wondered if Keme was coming into season. He would need to talk to Willa about it.

Edmund returned to the table in time to hear Morgan and Pierce argue.

"The courier said it is for AD Linch!" Pierce said.

"And what am I?" Morgan retorted. "The clerk?"

"No, that would be me," Edmund said, pouring her a cup. "Is there a problem?"

Pierce was peeling a linen wrapping away from a small, brick-shaped object. "No, except that this is mine!" He sounded eager and satisfied. He firmly tugged at the wrapping. "And this is fine quality! The stickier it is, the better."

"The stickier the what?" Edmund asked.

Pierce prised the cloth from the object it was adhering to and rolled the brick onto a breakfast plate. Except, it was not a brick. Edmund started and stared, shocked beyond all imagining.

"What is that?" Edmund demanded.

"Sweets, obviously," Pierce said, wadding up the linen and trying to wipe his hands clean. "Here!" he said to a passing cook. He had to pull the cloth from his sticky fingers and dropped it on to the cook's tray. "Would you please take this and find me a damp rag? I've got sugar everywhere!"

Edmund's tea cup was rattling in his hand; he set it on the table with a rocking clatter.

_What was going on? Oh Aslan what was this? **Here? Aslan, help me.**_

"What is it doing here?" he spit out through clenching teeth.

"It came with the morning courier who was delivering all the Houses' accountings," Morgan said. She gently poked the sugary block with a finger. "The courier told our doorman it was to be delivered to the AD of Linch."

"But he didn't know which AD." Pierce pulled the plate to him, but Morgan wrestled it back.

"It could be from Maeve!" Pierce insisted. "Who would send you sweets?"

"Harold could have sent them to me!" Morgan hissed possessively. "Or, Alan!"

"Did you send this, Harold?" Pierce asked.

"No!"

"You don't need to shout," Pierce said. He paused and looked up. "Is there something wrong?

Edmund nodded stiffly still staring at the obscene sweet.

"Are you alright, Harold?" Morgan asked, finally.

He found his voice. "No, Morgan, I am not well at all." Something was fundamentally wrong. The lump of confection on the plate, a sticky, chewy block of jellied nuts and fruit, and coated in sugar, was very, very like Jadis' magiked candy. Eerily like it.

Morgan put a hand on this shoulder. "It's just Calormene rahat. It's sold everwhere in Tashbaan. It's a very popular gift on Two Hearts Day here."

Edmund felt a tug and Willa jumped up to the table. She whipped her tail around and smacked Pierce's hand as he was bringing his fingers to his mouth.

"Stop where you are!" she snapped. "Put your hands down."

Her whiskers were quivering violently. Willa took a deep, long sniff of the candy on the plate then looked to him.

"You're right, Sir. There's something suspicious about this," Willa said with a hiss.

His mind finally caught up with and quelled the shock and he knew the Lion had heard his plea. Everyone began crowding closer, for they were Bankers, who did not even know what a physical threat looked and felt like. They did not have instincts that screamed when something was very wrong and dangerous. Edmund would command here.

In a voice schooled in the Training Yard and battlefield, Edmund called out, "Keme! Go find Jina! We need her!"

Keme poked her nose into the dining area. The Rat took in the scene.

"We're on it!" She spun about and Edmund could hear her calling to Teddy.

"Everyone stay back!," he barked. "Pierce! Morgan! Don't touch anything; don't put your fingers near your mouths. Someone, you there," he pointed imperiously at a Cook, "get the ADs a bucket of water, clean rags, and soap. Now!"

The Cook knew an order when she heard one and scurried off, but there were protesting murmurs from the Bankers – in the status and title conscious Houses, clerks did not give orders.

"Oh for Tash's sake, do what he says!" Morgan cried. "Stand back! Get the bucket!"

Edmund had never felt so very grateful for Morgan's trust.

"You there!" he bellowed to the girl entering the dining room from the scullery. "Find that rag AD Pierce gave you! Don't touch it! Don't let anyone else touch it!"

"Sir," the girl stammered, mistakenly assuming that a title went with his orders. "I just rinsed it. It's in the ..."

The low, loud growl made the hair stand up on his arms.

"Back! Everyone!" Jina shouted between urgent barks. "Now!"

The Hound pushed through the crowd, her toenails scrabbling on the flagstone in her haste to reach the table. She shoved her way next to Pierce, reared up, and put her front paws on the table. Edmund could see Jina's nose moving as she inhaled and inspected the sugared candy. The Hound growled again.

"What is going on in my House?" Director Linch bellowed from the dining room doorway. "What is this racket!"

Keme and Teddy rushed in and under the Director's legs, blocking his way into the dining room. "Stay back, Sir!" Keme said sharply. "It's not safe."

"What do you mean? Not safe? In my…"

"Quiet!" Willa snapped from the table. "Let the Hound do her work."

The only sounds were of Jina's low growls and careful sniffing.

"Jina?" Edmund asked into the stillness of a dozen Humans all holding their breath.

"It is poison," Jina said. "Anyone who eats that food will die."

* * *

Chapter 8, Two Hearts Day, Part 2, follows, in which Harold the Clerk adds Murder Investigation to his ever growing list of titles.

* * *

Phew. Plot and revelations and worldbuilding and some tender and not so tender words. Those who followed my Live Journal will recognize parts of the Two Hearts segment, now with added context. I had long intended to kill off Teddy. He was marked for death from _By Royal Decree_, actually. But, given the death already looming once they return to Narnia, I decided to let the Rat live.

I know it's a slog to get through. This was originally at 17,000 word chapter, but I find that I lose readers when we go above 10,000. So, here's the first part and I'll post the second part in a week or two. I do hope you will share your thoughts. I hugely appreciate all the wonderful comments. I received a few nice anonymous comments and I'll respond to those in my LJ shortly.


	9. Chapter 9 Two Hearts Day, Part 2

**Harold and Morgan: Not a Romance**  
**Chapter 9, Two Hearts Day, Part 2**

* * *

In which Harold the Clerk adds Murder Investigation to his ever growing list of titles, meets unsavoury characters, goes shopping, and runs rings around a Bank Director.

* * *

With previous interrogations, Edmund had the powers of his office to compel obedience, the implicit, intimidating threat of a toothy Guard, and Hounds to assist in identifying when anxiety might be concealing half-truths and even falsehoods. This would be, as everything else had been in the Lone Islands, a lesson in humility. And really, had not Harold the Clerk, bag carrier, secretary, lackey, etcetera, etcetera, already been honed to a sufficiently dull edge?

He left Sallowpad and the Rats to deal with the initial investigation of the House and security for Morgan and Pierce. They knew to preserve evidence for Jina to smell. Unfortunately, they were likely to be frustrated as their first urgent sweep had revealed little useful. Sallowpad had observed once that all best evidence would be gathered in the first confused aftermath, and that most of that evidence would point the wrong way. They had to find the correct story that went with the evidence, which, even by the standards of prior investigations, was pitiful.

The efficient cook had, on the orders of her AD, immediately rinsed the sticky linen that had wrapped the poisoned rahat. The candy had arrived at the House in a wooden crate that had been moving between the Houses for days and weeks. Its purpose was to carry ledgers and packages which couriers ferried about. Scores of people had handled it. Jina sensed the poison readily enough, but who else had handled the crate was too hopelessly muddled for her to provide any meaningful information. Edmund saw little point in worrying over much on that issue for they could not assume that the perpetrator had ever touched the crate. He or she might have merely deposited the package in it, or had someone else do it.

In a delivery room at the Linch Kitchens' back door, all outgoing materials were in crates labeled for each House. All incoming materials were deposited on a shelf. The House staff, Bankers, and couriers came and went, picked up items, and saw them delivered. All routine. All unremarkable. Anyone had access, day or night, and anyone could make use of the courier services, and did. The courier said it was the same at the other Houses.

Edmund pressed the courier very hard but the elderly man did not know when the package had been added to the crate bound for Linch or by whom. The most crucial piece of evidence, the instructions to deliver the package to AD Linch, had predictably gone missing. Edmund was the veteran of too many investigations really to have expected otherwise. The courier only remembered it at all because the scrap had not said which Linch AD, but even that wasn't unusual. The accounting records were frequently directed to a House's ADs.

The courier retained and reused the scraps with delivery instructions. He might have kept this instruction, or he might have tossed the abused scrap into a cooking fire, or it might have blown away in the chill wind. Jina's thorough search of the man's offices, a cubby situated between Meryl and Sterns with a warming stove, stacks of wooden crates, piles of parchment scraps, and ample supply of Calormene liquor, revealed nothing. The courier further reported numerous packages moving amongst the houses for Two Hearts Day, of which many were, from the outer wrapping, rahat.

It was the height of impropriety to go barging into a House this close to Conclave without an appointment. He began with the most difficult. Fortunately, he recognized from the Ladies Lunch the pretty House of Sterns Junior Banker who was summoned to greet him at the door. To obtain admittance, it took only a little flirting, a promise of a coffee after Conclave, and his explanation of an important package for Director Linch that had gone astray. She promptly showed Harold the clerk to the delivery room for a discussion with the staff. If the woman was lying, she was masterful. Jina did not think she was and Edmund did not believe so either. Confirming the courier's report, the procedures at Sterns were the same as those at Linch.

_Did you notice a package intended for AD Linch?  
I didn't, but I'm sure there were some here._

_Did you handle a package intended for AD Linch?  
Of course. We do that every day._

_Did you notice anyone leaving packages here?  
Yes._

_Who?  
Everyone. The other Bankers, the staff, the Director were all coming and going in here all day and all night._

_Do you remember any Two Hearts Day packages?  
Oh yes! There were many!_

Her attractive blush made him think she had received at least one Two Hearts Day package, and probably several.

And then a bell rang and she had to dash off to fetch, carry and add columns of sums for her Director and his ADs.

At Meryl House, the statement that he was there on behalf of Director Linch on a matter of personal urgency resulted in being immediately ushered into the Director's office. Alan and Constance were already with the Director and he wondered if they had had a pleasant evening. Edmund felt a twinge of envy for what they had shared, what he had failed to anticipate for Morgan, and some small remorse for upsetting Constance and Alan's day-after.

Director Meryl's office was large and airy and Edmund knew Susan would have seen and appreciated all the subtle decorating touches of a powerful woman – the silk hangings and wool carpet, the abundant blown glass, the pearl inlays, silver, glistening opals and abalone shells. Alan sat at his mother's right hand. Constance had a lead and a ledger and he felt a kinship to the designated secretary scribe.

Constance gave a smiling greeting for Jina. The Hound thwapped her tail twice but otherwise stayed at Edmund's side.

"Thank you for seeing me," he told them.

"Not at all…" The Meryl replied, speaking for them all, as was her prerogative. She seemed preoccupied and nervous. "How might Meryl serve?"

"We are all very busy and so I shall be brief," Edmund said. "There was a package delivered to ADs Pierce and Morgan this morning. The Director very much wishes us to identify who sent it."

"A package?" Director Meryl asked, pursing her lips. "What sort of package? Can you be clearer?" She paused and, as an afterthought, added, "Please?"

Edmund would never have expected courtesy from a House Director. This might be because he was acting on Director Linch's behalf. Or, Meryl was becoming suspicious of who he really was. Either would make her cooperative. "A package that could have been used to perpetrate an injury," he said.

Alan and Constance both started, and Alan leaped to his feet. "By the gods, are they alright? Is anyone injured?"

The Meryl had turned as pale as snow.

"No one was injured."

"What happened?" Alan asked.

"I am not prepared to say," Edmund replied, automatically, and belatedly knew it was not the most politic of statements given his lowly status. For courtesy, he added, "The Director has asked me to not divulge the details for the moment."

"But everyone is well?" Constance asked.

"Yes," Edmund replied firmly.

Constance gently tugged on Alan's sleeve and he slumped back down to his seat.

"Does…" The Meryl had to stop, anxiously clear her throat, and start again. "Does my brother require our assistance?" She rubbed her fingers deep into the worry lines of her temples. "That doesn't... what I mean is, can we see them? Do they need us?"

He would confirm later with Jina, but Edmund's impression was that the Meryl's shock and distress were genuine. Whether she was more concerned for her niece and nephew or for what an injury to them meant to the future of her House and Alan's joint venture was impossible to discern. She was probably frantic with worry over both.

"They are all well," Edmund repeated. "Like you, they are concentrating upon finishing the final accountings in advance of Conclave and can ill afford any distraction."

"Yes, of course," the Director said. "Perhaps I will come over for a brief visit this evening? At the eighth bell? To express our support?"

Edmund nodded. "I will tell the Director to expect you. For now, I would like to ask a few questions and then visit your delivery room."

The process was not as he would wish it. Witnesses should be interviewed alone and with a record taken. There was not sufficient time to conduct it properly, he had no support, and Edmund was very conscious of acting without any apparent authority. He was very disturbed that going to the Narnian representative, Governor Florian, to initiate a formal inquiry was not even entertained. This was the way of the Houses. They conducted their own affairs, they regulated themselves, and it had been this way for so long, they did not consider any other alternative. The Lone Island Code did not even have provisions regarding violent conduct – he had looked. For all its detail regarding the organization of the Houses, the rules of Order for the shut in and Conclave, the management of conflicts, the mandating of disclosures, the plans for succession and education of Banker children, the treatment and accounting of entities and investment vehicles, and the reporting of income and assets, the Bankers' Code was silent on the subject of murder, injury, and mayhem.

At the House of Meryl, his questioning mattered no more than it had at Sterns. They had all three, and many others, been in and out of the delivery room. They took no notice of any package to be delivered to Linch. He would ask Jina later of her impressions, and he was certainly biased, for he liked the denizens of Meryl very much.

When he rose to leave Director Meryl's plush office, Constance did as well. "I shall take Harold to the delivery room."

"Thank you," Director Linch said weakly. Her hand shook as she set her coffee cup down.

"Harold, should I send Morgan more flowers?" Alan asked, all sincerity.

"She is still very much enjoying the ones you brought yesterday," Edmund assured him blandly. Were it not so serious a matter, his answer might have been otherwise. Jina's tail thumped twice. "But, I shall tell her you are thinking of her."

Edmund followed Constance downstairs to the Meryl House Kitchens and delivery room, where the conversations of Linch and Sterns replayed while Jina investigated. Uncomfortably, he saw that Constance was also observing Jina closely as the Hound nosed about the rooms.

"She is very preoccupied," Constance said. "It does you credit, Jina, to be so concerned for Morgan and Pierce. I thank you very much for your part."

Jina turned her head and looked at Constance. Edmund thought someone would have to be blind to not see the thoughtful understanding in Jina's expressive face. Constance was not blind at all.

Edmund shook his head fractionally and with a Canine sigh of understanding, Jina went back to her sniffing about the rooms.

Once Jina completed her circuit, Constance escorted him to the doors. Edmund shrugged into his cloak. The ice from the night before was melting, so it was a sloppy mess outside. Another light drizzle was falling which would, again, freeze overnight.

"Harold, before you go, I should be forthcoming with you."

"Yes?"

"The Director asked me if I had ever seen one of the Narnian Kings before."

The question Edmund had been expecting for weeks finally came. He had a rehearsed script prepared.

"Oh? And why is that?" he asked blandly.

"Because the Director saw the portraits of the Narnian monarchs hanging in the Governor's House when she paid the Houses' tribute to the Crown. Director Meryl saw a remarkable semblance in one of them."

Edmund mentally winced. He should have foreseen this eventuality. "I see."

"She is conflicted. She believes her brother is possibly complicit in a very significant secret he was obligated to disclose under the Code, but is loathe to make any accusation with Conclave looming. She also recognizes that she does not have all the facts and she dislikes making any decision without them."

This was consistent with what he had observed of the Director's character. She was very risk averse. "Undoubtedly Director Meryl realizes that, should her suspicions prove correct, her continuing silence would garner far more good will from powerful interests."

"Yes, Sir."

Constance had changed to the Houses' highest honorific, just as Morgan had, at first, in Narnia.

"And something else, Sir. I can see you are not at liberty to describe the matter in full, and I do not know if anyone else will speak of it. In fact, I have the most cause to do harm to either or both of the ADs."

"Why is that, Constance?"

She looked down at the floor and her finger nervously tapped on the mantle. "Jealousy, Sir. I have been relegated to barely a clerk for years because I lack the brilliance of Maeve and Morgan. I was never even considered as Alan's partner and heir to Meryl. Instead, Morgan will marry the man I love and take leadership of the House that bears my name."

"Those are powerful incentives for revenge and damaging statements." He did not believe Constance would act so. But, traitors and wrongdoers came in all manner of beings and the most dangerous ones knew how to hide their intent, even, to a point, from clever, sensitive Hounds and inquisitive Kings. One effective tactic was to admit to the minor offence and conceal the greater one.

"Yes, Sir, they are. But they are true even if not the truth, if you understand my meaning. I certainly would never harm either of them, but I would gain if Morgan or Pierce died."

"So, Morgan's elimination I see. But what of Pierce? Who would profit from such a crime?"

Constance held the door for him and watched as Jina trotted out the front steps and sensed the area for any threat. She shook her head with a disturbingly knowing smile.

"In the event of Pierce's death, the joint venture between Meryl and Linch dissolves, automatically, and Morgan assumes leadership of Linch. And Alan is free and another successor must be found."

Though no one had spoken of it, now that he considered it, the arrangement made sense. "Thank you, Constance, for your candor."

"Thank you, Sir. And you, Jina, as well."

Edmund was on the front step with the blue door shut behind him before he realized that Constance Meryl had farewelled him with a deep curtsey.

Away from the windows of the House, Edmund knelt down, as if to pet his dumb dog. "Well?"

"Both Constance and the Director strongly suspect you are not who you seem to be. But that you already know."

"Yes, and we shall have to rely upon their discretion a while longer. What of the delivery area?" Icy rain was trickling down his neck and beading on Jina. Edmund carefully brushed the water from her coat.

"As at Linch and Sterns, I believe the package was there, in the box," Jina said, shaking herself and spraying him all over. No good deed goes unpunished, Edmund knew.

She continued, "Whether the crate originated at the House or came there from somewhere else, I can't say. And too many people have been through the area."

"And what of Constance's confession?"

"Her resentment is directed at Director Meryl. She becomes frustrated with Alan and with Morgan. She and the Director are both nervous around you now, and so that is confusing things very much. I do not believe that Constance is being completely…"

From the knitting of her brows, the Hound was trying to find Beast words for Human deception and it was not natural for them.

"She is being truthful but not telling the whole truth?" Edmund asked.

"Yes. I do believe she is a friend of Narnia," Jina said with a sigh. "But, Constance also knows how to be someone you want to like."

Edmund considered this sage observation. The ability to effortlessly garner goodwill and opinion was a skill Peter had, and despite the humour of the comparison, Alan Meryl had it as well. It was a trait he admired, in part because he did not have it himself.

"Thank you, Lady. After Stanleh, I would like to visit Lower Town."

Jina sighed again. She was not fond of her King's forays there.

Admittance to the House of Stanleh was complicated. Their head housekeeper did not like dogs and so during previous visits to Stanleh, Jina had usually stayed behind. Edmund decided to go straight to the back door. One of the cooks admitted him when Edmund explained his errand – that they were searching the Houses' delivery rooms for a package intended for the House of Linch that had gone astray that morning. Jina, in the meantime, surreptitiously nosed about. She gave him a pointed look in the direction of a doorway on the other side of the Kitchens that, judging from the sounds of dishes and conversation, was the Dining Room.

He was just debating whether to see if any of the Bankers he knew were in the Dining Room when he heard Maeve's voice.

"I'll see if there's more coffee made yet."

A moment later, she stood in the doorway, coffee urn in hand, just as Edmund had done that morning at Linch House.

"Oh, Harold, what are you doing here? I got up for…" She stared around absently. "Something."

"Coffee?" Edmund ended helpfully. Maeve was an exhausted ruin, hair undone, bloodshot eyes staring out of a pale face, and clothes rumpled and askew.

She nodded. "Yes, coffee. Or tea. Or maybe I shall suck on the leaves and beans? Sorry, you've found us in quite the state. What are you doing here?"

Maeve swayed on her feet and Edmund crossed to her side and relieved her of the urn before she dropped it.

"You there!" he said to a dawdling cook. "The AD would like more coffee, please."

The cook bolted toward the hearth and started banging pots around even as Maeve harrumphed at his presumption. Her tired eyes focused on Jina purposefully nosing about the Kitchens. "You brought Morgan's pet dog? Better not let Criat see."

Criat was the cranky Stanleh housekeeper.

"We will not be here long and if she comes, I will ask for your indulgence. As for the reason I am here, we are trying to trace a package that arrived this morning for the ADs with the courier."

Maeve yawned. "Sorry. We've been up all night." She blinked and her edge suddenly sharpened. "You said there was a package for the ADs?"

"Yes."

Looking very crafty for someone so fagged, she pushed him back through the Kitchens toward the delivery room. "Was it something for Pierce? From someone?" Maeve whispered urgently.

Edmund allowed her to steer him. Maeve was compromised, to be sure, but he was more likely to learn something useful when she was in such an unguarded state. "As it happens, yes, it was for AD Pierce."

Maeve's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do you know who it's from? It wasn't that junior Banker from Sterns, was it? The blonde with the big _smile_?"

"No, Maeve," Edmund said, finding her spurt of vivid jealousy amusing and disquieting. "It was nothing like that." He pitied the blonde Sterns Banker with the big smile who had been so helpful to him earlier; she _was_ attractive and Maeve was just the sort to knock the teeth out of a romantic rival's mouth. At that moment, Maeve was reminding him of a particularly fierce Eagle defending her mate from other encroaching females.

"Oh. Good." She put a hand on his arm and her grip could cause numbness. "Did Pierce say anything? Give you anything for me?"

Edmund pried her fingers off his arm. "Pierce very much regretted not seeing you last night and he understands why he could not."

"Oh, well that's good then." She smile and looked down, fidgeting, pulling on her dangling hair, and looking very shy and meek. It was very odd, like a shark suddenly turned into a goldfish. "Would you tell Pierce I'm sorry too? I mean, I already did, in a note, but, again? And that I really …"

The thought of being the intermediary between lovers was too awful to contemplate. And Maeve turning so _limp_ with affection for Pierce was even more alarming than her jealousy. Edmund held out a warning hand but Maeve, fortunately, stopped in time. Her smile widened. "Sorry again. Just tell him I'm looking forward to another Zalindreh audit."

"Of course." As he knew the context from Pierce, even that statement suggested far greater intimacy than Edmund wanted to be party to. This was a glimpse into the sympathetic accord that existed between Pierce and Maeve and he wondered if the Linch Director's approach of ignoring the situation until it went away was likely to succeed. Come to think, the strategy had not worked with him and Morgan, either. Edmund shoved that inconvenient reflection aside. Now was not the time and could lead to something uncomfortably closer to romance.

"Maeve, if you will, the package I am inquiring of was about the size of a loaf or brick, wrapped in linen, intended for the ADs at Linch. Did you see it about or notice it in the delivery crates?"

"I don't think so. We were going back to the delivery room to drop things off for all the Houses all night." Maeve let out a deep sigh and ran her hands over her tired face. "I made several trips for the Director to the delivery room after the twelfth hour with accountings he had approved. There were papers and some packages. Notes, too, like the one I sent to Pierce."

"Maeve!" Seth called from the dining room. "Did you fall asleep in there?"

"I'm talking to Harold from Linch!"

Seth appeared in the doorway, as careworn and bedraggled as his sister. "Sorry, Harold. No more smashball for me until after Conclave."

"You can be such a Northern Barbarian!" Maeve retorted. "Harold is trying to find out about a package that came to Linch this morning for the ADs. Wrapped in cloth, about this big." She gestured with her hands. "Is that right, Harold?"

"Yes." He watched Seth closely and felt Jina's attention.

Seth yawned mightily, putting a hand over his mouth. "Sorry. Awful night. A package? Yes, there were quite a few that went out last night, this morning…" Seth rubbed his eyes. "It all runs together. I sent some myself."

Before Edmund could follow up on this intriguing confession, Maeve interrupted. "To Dara Sterns?"

Seth's expression to his sister became intent and disapproving. "Yes. And why do you care?"

"Because if you sent something to her, she would not send anything to Pierce!" Maeve exclaimed triumphantly.

Seth stared at his sister then looked at Edmund. "Should I pretend I understand that reasoning?"

"It makes perfect sense," Maeve retorted.

"Not in the least," Seth replied. "And if I am a Northern Barbarian, why are you suddenly so appallingly girlish? What has happened to you?"

Edmund did not wish to be within a league of two Bankers arguing thus. He started as a bell suddenly pealed, loud and imperious.

Brother and sister immediately broke off their spat, and exchanged a knowing look and two resigned sighs. "You'll have to excuse us," Maeve said.

"The Director summons," Seth added, as weary.

"Of course," Edmund replied. "It is much the same at Linch."

He let himself out the back door.

Edmund waited until he and Jina were alone on the Silver Stair and walking down to the Lower Town before he said anything.

"So, they were exhausted and anxious. Did you sense any deception?"

"Yes, I believe so," Jina replied. "But, the stress about the accounting and Two Hearts Day and these many courtships confuses it greatly."

A talented Hound could often tell when a Human was anxious about lying or concealing information. The skill was useful to direct inquiries and for probing inconsistencies in accounts. But, Jina usually could not determine where the precise falsehood lay.

"Also, the scent of the poison is very strong in the House."

"It is?" Edmund stopped on the stair too quickly and nearly slipped. He put a hand against the cliff wall to steady himself.

"But, the poison was laid out as a trap. It's everywhere, in the delivery room, near the doors, and under cupboards."

And so, as quickly, the lead faded. "Well, it does show that the poison was in the House."

"It was in all the Houses," Jina replied, sniffing at a prickly bush.

"We need to link the rahat sweet to a House." Edmund ran a hand along the cliff wall. In the shadow of Upper Town, the rock face was still a frozen waterfall. "And, as would be the way of it, I should think that package Seth sent to Dara Sterns was rahat."

"Yes," Jina replied with a Hound sigh.

They descended further down the Stair, carefully negotiating the slippery patches. Edmund could see Jina lower her head and tuck her tail between her back legs.

"Something ail you, Lady Hound?"

"I do not understand them, King Edmund. They call us Northern Barbarians, but work to point of illness and exhaustion. And all for money? Is money really that important?"

"Narnians are blessed in that regard, Lady Hound, for we do not need to concern ourselves with it as others do." _Money is a subtle business_, Sallowpad had said, and they were all learning the unique challenges it posed. "Many Humans, as my brother observed, are simply honest folk trying to make their way in a hard world. But for others, yes, money is very important, perhaps _the_ most important thing in their small lives."

Jina lifted her nose and breathed deeply. She turned her face into the breeze blowing strong from the North. "The wind is changing soon, my King."

"Yes," Edmund agreed. "It is."

* * *

In the Narrowhaven Lower Town, the Front street ran parallel to and along the Harbour's edge; Broad and Guild intersected Front at either end. These were busy places, teeming with people and activity and catering to the prosperity of the Bankers of Upper Town. In the Winter and during the shut in, the commercial life had slowed and supplies on shelves were dwindling. Still, there was enough – smoked and dried fish, cooking oil, root and pickled vegetables and the occasional wizened apple – all to be paid for in Calormene crescents. Narrowhaven, and the Bankers who managed it, knew how to conserve their foodstuffs, just as Squirrels did in the Narnian Winter.

Further from the Harbour, away from the bustling merchants, crafters, and guildsmen, were the alleys of Lower Town. These were narrow, dark, and reeked of dead fish and unwashed humanity. Edmund did not have a Hound's sense of smell and Jina was too polite to complain when her King wandered these back streets. The Rats and Sallowpad adored the Narrowhaven alleys.

It was in this seedy place that Peridan had presented himself to his King under most auspicious circumstances. Edmund had been shown a night in the Lower Town with Seth, Pierce and Alan. There had been spicy Calormene finger food washed down with smooth liquors; they sat on dirt floors and smoked water pipes in a dark room. There were sinuous girls, pale, pretty men, and haunting music that wound its way into your ears and burrowed deep into your belly. As a Narnian who had danced by the light of the ritual fires and knew the rhythms of Aslan's ancient songs at the turn of every season, as a King and diplomat, the whole of it was neither unusual nor particularly decadent. He could see why Seth and Pierce followed Alan – good drinks, better food, and the comeliest dancers trailed in the Meryl banker's wake. He was very fine and generous company.

That night, Edmund had ducked into the alley to clear his head of the wit-fogging smoke. Peridan, looking for an easy mark, had mistakenly thought Edmund far drunker than he was. Peridan drew a knife; Edmund surprised him by being quicker, with the bigger knife, and far more accustomed to using it. They decided that Peridan would be more useful on the streets than in the Governor's gaol, and so an association of convenience was born.

Edmund followed Jina, for the Hound knew his mind and destination, even if she did not like it. They entered the dark warren of the Lower Town alleys. It was late enough that Peridan should be sober from the night before but earlier enough to not yet be drunk.

Here in the late morning light, it was mostly vagabonds sorting through refuse for fuel and food. Edmund was disturbed to see these things, even if, intellectually, he knew that the problem was far less severe here than elsewhere. For very utilitarian reasons, the Bankers undertook charitable works – if everyone had enough to eat, no one complained to the Crown. They had received very few complaints from the Lone Islands citizenry. Bankers, not surprisingly, believed in market solutions to every ill and their approach was similar to how one trained dumb beasts – show some affection, be firm, but not cruel, feed them regularly, and they would always look to you.

Jina growled and looked up, and so Edmund was prepared when there was a movement overhead and a man hopped down to the ground from the low roof. Today, Peridan looked like a shabby Calormene street performer, though it was impossible to know for certain. Under the obscuring paint and dirt, he was Northern in colouring. Maybe.

"Your most esteemed Worshipfullness, the sun shines light in my eyes with your noble arrival! You of such splendid countenance, so respected! So noble a brow! So loyal a Hound!"

"You are slipping, Peridan. Or drunk. You have used _noble_ twice in as many sentences."

Edmund had not been able to determine if Peridan knew he was the Narnian King, enjoyed pretending that he was, or if it was all simply Peridan's excessive theatrics.

"Truly your most high Highnessness! I am not worthy to stand in your exalted presence!" Peridan teetered on his feet to emphasize his point and then dipped to a deep, Calormene style bow, perfectly executed, as that which a Tarkaan would award to a lord of higher, though unknown, rank. Although a Northerner's appearance lurked under Peridan's concealments, he knew all the appropriate and nuanced mannerisms of Calormene polite society as well. The man was an extraordinary contradiction.

Edmund tossed him a Narnian Lion. Peridan caught the coin and it disappeared into the fold of a dirty sleeve. "Payment or exchange, m'Lord?"

Peridan also gave him better rates when exchanging Narnian currency for Calormene. The unwary were not so fortunate, for Peridan would execute a distraction and, with a sleight of hand, the victim would pay all his coin and gain naught but a wad of weighted cloth.

"Payment," Edmund replied.

"Is this about the to-do at Linch this morning? Barking dogs? Talking rats? And a lowly clerk who some are wondering might not be so low after all?"

Peridan's knowing smirk could be very irritating.

"In speaking so, you have answered one of my questions," Edmund told the man. The gossip was inevitable and he had expected it. "Are any of the House staff or their Bankers asking the right questions?"

"Conclave. That's all they are thinking of now," Peridan replied, withdrawing a small penknife from his belt. The action though was casual and restless, not threatening. "Staff and retainers will talk but the Bankers aren't listening much right now." He began picking dirt from his fingernails with the knife and flicking it idly in Edmund's direction. "And just what was the to-do about?"

Edmund answered with another question. "If I wished to purchase odorless, tasteless poison, where would I go?"

Peridan looked up, startled, eyes wide, and whistled dramatically.

"So that part of tale has not circulated yet?" Edmund asked, intrigued.

"I heard a garbled account." With the serious turn in the conversation, Peridan became visibly attentive. For all his indolent mannerisms, he was a sharp person and Edmund valued his streetwise, and Human, perspective. He slipped the knife back in his belt and slouched against the plaster wall. "I thought it too incredible to credit. Anyone hurt?"

"Thank Aslan, no." Having said it aloud, Edmund sent heartfelt and personal thanks to the Lion. He had been remiss in his devotions these last busy weeks and surely Aslan's paw had been guiding him here and had helped him to see the danger before it became a tragedy.

"Bad business, Sir." Peridan tugged on his scraggly beard and shook his head. Edmund thought it notable that even a man such as Peridan, who had sought out and was living a hard life of the streets, was disturbed. "Murder? Among the Bankers? On the eve of Conclave?"

"So it would seem," Edmund replied.

"It's not like a Banker, at all," Peridan mused, picking at plaster on the wall.

"Why is that?"

"If he's dead, he won't know how you ruined him," Peridan said grimly, pulling a chunk of wall away and tossing it to the side. "Where's the pleasure in that for a Banker?"

"I suppose," Edmund replied. "As for poison? What's common here?"

Peridan shrugged. "There's one, white or grey depending on what it's mixed with, powdery. In Calormen, it's called zarnikh."

Edmund nodded. Zarnikh was known by many names – it was potent and one that Narnians had been schooled in avoiding.

"Problem is, zarnikh is used for vermin." Peridan looked sly. "I've heard all the Houses have been having rat problems this shut in. Real infestation, with staff complaining something awful about them. Stanleh especially. Island Apothecary is where they'd all go to buy their poison."

Edmund knew the shop on the north side of the Guild row.

"And where would a Banker go to purchase rahat for a sweetheart?"

"One you liked, one you wanted to bed, or one you wanted to kill?" Peridan asked, rubbing frozen moss from the wall.

"Let us assume it is sincere, for wooing. A high quality confection for a discerning Banker."

"Sekerleme," Peridan said. "Specializes in Calormene confections."

Edmund tossed Peridan another coin and, when the man grumbled, another.

"You are _too_ generous, _Sire_."

Edmund detested that title. However, he would not correct Peridan. It was best to maintain a semblance of anonymity and regardless, if Peridan knew of his dislike, the man would certainly invent reasons to call him _Sire_. "Any other news? What are the wagers on Conclave?"

Peridan squinted up to the dull sky and inhaled, as if tasting the air as Jina had done. Every Lone Islander had his or her own way to predict the break in the weather that signaled the beginning of Conclave. "Soon," he said. "No more than a ten-day. The ships will follow after that."

"But the ships will not be permitted to dock until Conclave ends and the Bankers open the shutters of the Counting House and run the flags." It was such a strange tradition, though it certainly further underscored who had the power in the Lone Islands.

"That's the way of it," Peridan said with a grunt.

"Thank you, Peridan. If you learn anything of this business, have a message sent to me?" He tossed another coin to the man. Peridan was clever, watchful, communicated well, yet could reveal nothing, and so far, had a loyalty that stayed bought. Cleaned up, Peridan would make an excellent diplomat if Edmund could persuade him out of the alley.

"M'lord," Peridan said with another bow, this one straight out of Lune's Archenland court. "Also, I saw a trinket in the goldsmith's shop I thought you might like."

"Did you steal it?"

"I am wounded, Sir!" Peridan exclaimed, clutching his heart. "Insulted!"

"Undoubtedly," Edmund replied dryly.

"Sure as the winds will change, Sir, no Islander will buy that trinket. Offer a third and the goldsmith will take it."

Intrigued, he left Peridan to his alley and his liquor and with Jina, went to investigate the Guildsmen Row. Many of the stores were boarded up, with owners enjoying a winter nap before Conclave ended and the ships sailed in. Everything in Lower Town was dripping and gray and brown and muddy. He could not help but feel dissonance every time he walked these places. He saw now how their official visits had been so carefully planned – undoubtedly with a Bankers' meticulous care. Scrubbed the walls, emptied the alleys of Peridan and his ilk, swept up the refuse, planted flowers, fed the donkeys extra rations, hung scarlet and gold lion banners, filled the stores with Narnian goods – they probably kept Narnian wares in storage and trotted them out whenever a Monarch came to town. Perhaps they painted the grass green.

Calormene money, Calormene food, Calormene traditions and oaths, Calormene goods, Calormene fashion, Calormene entertainment. Narnia did not exist in her own protectorate.

In other cities, the goldsmiths would take up a whole street – in Narrowhaven there were only a few shops with the telltale double gold rings symbol. The process was made easier for only one of the shops was open. Fortuitously, a small tree was painted on the wall, which meant the shop did their business through Linch.

Edmund let Jina satisfy herself with a careful sniff around the area before he entered the shop. The shutters were thrown open to let in what little light of the day there was. A grizzled woman sat at a stool next to the table with her wares; she was carefully polishing the glinting pieces. Her hands – and the rest of her – were so stubby and strong, Edmund thought it likely she had Dwarf blood but knew it was impolite to ask.

Edmund felt a surge of affection. A Red Dwarfess smith, one of Mrs. Furner's daughters, had helped him design the Narnian signet ring he now wore around his neck.

Good morning, Sir." A gold tooth gleamed in the woman's grin. She took in his green shoulder knot. "Linch is always welcome here. Looking for something special? Not too late for Two Hearts Day."

The words, "Thank you, but I was passing by and am not buying today," were almost out of his mouth. Then, the goldsmith set down on the table the broach she had been burnishing and Edmund knew he could not leave the shop without it.

* * *

It had been a waste of a morning. The work did not stop. _Always be prepared_, father had taught. _Defend your assumptions, or don't make them_, mother had lectured. And the parents and teachers and Directors before them. For hundreds of years, it had been so.

The end was near. They could all feel it in the air. One day, he would bolt awake, hearing that shift of the wind and the drip of ice melting. Then Conclave would begin and when it ended, the ships would dock at Narrowhaven, filled with goods and merchants, everyone wanting to do business. That vital activity, begun here, in these venerable Houses, would spread quickly throughout the Known Lands.

_Someone tried to murder my children._

"Director?"

Linch realized he had been staring at the same column since the fourth bell, making no comment or notation.

"Yes, Sallowpad?"

The Raven hopped down to the desk. In a flash of movement, the Bird pecked his hand, hard and sharp. Linch jerked back his hand with a cry.

"Pay attention!" the Raven snapped.

"Someone tried to murder my children!"

He buried his head in hands. He was old, helpless, and furious. Indebted to a little lordling, upstart, seducer, uneducated, poorly capitalized, no family, no history. Not even the leader, just the younger co-ruler of a tiny land that depended on luck, magic, and the provenance of the Divine to survive.

_And this little lordling saved my children and my House._

_How can I repay this debt? I have nothing so precious as Morgan and Pierce. He must know this. He will want in repayment what I cannot give. _

Morgan was a treasure. Her acumen and insight, her ability to see the story behind the numbers, were unparalleled. Morgan spun thread into gold. Tarkaan, Archen, Island, and Telmarine lords had offered him wealth untold for her. Not to decorate their beds and adorn their arms. No, these were worldly men who knew that concubines and wives and slaves and mistresses satisfied vanity, the base urge, the emotional need, and the imperative for a legacy. Morgan, though, she could build them an empire.

To a little, Barbarian lordling, she was what? An entertainment? A passing fancy? A rut in the grass as animals did? A _woman_?

And Pierce, his most loyal, so very clever, patient, dogged, stalwart son, who was Morgan's greatest defender. Had Pierce been anyone but Morgan's younger brother, he would have been the brightest star Linch had seen in generations. Pierce embodied completely and perfectly the Linch ethic of duty and pursuit of a job well done. The Linch were not brilliant. If a client wanted that, well, that's what Stanleh provided. If one wanted the long term investment, the patience, the commitment to see it through, unflinching honesty, for this, the client hired a Linch. In Pierce's every act, the Linch legacy echoed.

_Someone tried to murder my children. _

With a snap, his writing lead broke between his fingers.

"Are you done?" the Raven croaked. "Because there is work to finish and you set a bad example."

"Someone tried to murder my children!" This time, he shouted it.

The Raven had the audacity to ruffle his feathers, unconcerned.

"And what can be done, is being done and you must leave it to those better qualified. You have other duties, Director. Things only you can do."

Sallowpad pecked at him again, but this time Linch was able to jerk his back in time and avoid the sting.

"So do them!"the Bird squawked. "Set the example! Lead!"

"Lead? Set an example?" He parroted the Raven's order, incredulous.

The Bird bobbed his head. "Yes. So the Raven instructs his Monarch and so I say to you."

"And your Monarch accepts this criticism?"

"If he is a wise Monarch, yes."

The bird was clever and conniving. He _knew_ Linch could not permit such a base comparison. If the thrice damned to Tash's hell little lordling could do this, so could he, a man of consequence, power, education and experience which eclipsed that of the Narnian children chance had placed on thrones. He was being manipulated by a bird, but the Raven had worldliness that paralleled his own. Linch bent again to the work, determined to be the better man that he knew he was. The clients needed them. The Conclave needed them. His House needed him.

The assumptions Stanleh had made regarding the city of Tashbaan's ability to repay the loan taken last year seemed overly optimistic. It was a difficult assessment, however, for it was what was not on the page that told the story. Through threats, artful negotiation, sweet incentives, and cagey advice, the Stanleh Director had been able to keep the Calormenes on stable financial footing for decades. The Stanleh could easily exhort Calormene compliance with the repayment terms. If they could not meet the terms, the Director would restructure the deal to avoid the balloon payment that, if Tashbaan was forced to repay to avoid default, would have the people rioting in the streets. Linch did not think Seth and Maeve had yet learned this delicate art of the strong arm that their Director had refined to an art. What if the Stanleh Director, reportedly in poor health, was not on hand to guide the Calormenes? What if he died in the new year? That was the risk Linch tried to assess that glared, unspoken, from the page.

He needed Morgan to review it. She would perceive the probability of Stanleh being able to renegotiate a re-fi at year end for the City of Tashbaan.

The work was engrossing enough that Linch was irritated when interrupted by a knock. "Who is it?" he called.

The door opened. "It's me, Sir," Morgan said. "Harold has returned."

_Harold_. A ridiculous name for a ridiculous, infuriating situation. "Come in!"

Harold and Morgan jostled at the door before Morgan finally made her way into the room first.

Linch supposed it was unrealistic for the little lordling to have the criminal already tied, trussed, and dumped into the Harbour.

_Someone tried to murder my children._

"Well?" Linch demanded, gesturing for them to sit. He joined them at the work table; Harold and Morgan sat closely together, nearly elbow to elbow. It was becoming more difficult to ignore these very ill relationships his children had formed. In the dark of the night, in the times long after the twelfth bell, Linch allowed himself, for a few moments, to mull where he might have gone so very wrong in advising his children on their joint ventures.

"The short answer is that the easy solutions did not present themselves," Harold said, shaking rain from his hair.

"So we know nothing! It has all been a waste?" His voice rose with the fury and worry. "There is a killer loose?" _Someone tried to murder my children._

The Narnian leaned forward in his seat, hands clasped in front of him. Linch envied and resented the man's calm that he certainly did not feel now.

"No on all counts, Director. By the testimony of Jina, Lady Hound, there is evidence of poison in all the Houses, explained both because it is a common thing, easily purchased at the apothecary, and because the package circulated in the crate before arriving here."

It occurred to him that to this Narnian, the dog's testimony would carry great weight. He had seen, again and again, the wit of these animals, but still he was surprised by it. They were treated like humans.

"Please thank Jina for me," Linch remembered to say, though the graciousness cost him. "We are all grateful for her assistance."

The lordling nodded. "I shall. The poison is also a common one, odorless and tasteless, frequently used in vermin traps baited with food. All the Houses have purchased it during shut in, including this one."

"How did you learn that?" he asked.

"Investigation," the lordling said simply, revealing a trace of smug confidence but nothing of his methods.

"What of the rahat?" Sallowpad asked.

"Deliveries were made to every House in the last ten-day in the run up to Two Hearts Day. It is impossible to trace from that source."

The lordling had presumably learned of the sweet purchases the same way he had learned of the poison. "And the Houses? Your interviews?" _Someone in those Houses tried to murder my children._

"At this point, we have no way to tie the poison and the rahat to a specific person."

His calm was infuriating.

"Someone tried to murder my children!" Linch finally shouted, throwing his arms up in disgust. "They attacked my House! And we do nothing!"

Morgan opened her mouth, made to stand, but the little lordling gently gestured her to quiet. "It is fine, Morgan." His voice was offensively composed.

"Director, please understand that this is not the first investigation I have conducted. Nor even the tenth or twentieth."

Harold glanced at Sallowpad and the Raven spoke with the prompting. "This is often the way of it, at first, Director."

_How can they be so calm about this?_ This was all orchestrated, all out Linch's own control. His House, his children were in danger, and he could not protect them.

Harold, the little lordling, nodded gravely. "Again, by Jina's testimony, there is deception. There are many who would gain by the death of Pierce or Morgan. I did not speak to any knowledgeable Sterns Banker and they should not be eliminated prematurely. Nor should Alan Meryl or the Stanleh Director. Constance Meryl admitted to a significant motive and Seth and Maeve Stanleh certainly had opportunity."

"Good work for a morning," Sallowpad said.

"Thank you, Chief."

"But that cannot be enough," Linch insisted, even as he followed the reasoning. "They might try again!"

"Director, bear in mind that no one has any reason to or incentive to cooperate with Harold the clerk and secretary of Linch, even if I do act on your authority."

"You can remedy that easily enough!" he snarled, temper completely fraying.

"Bad idea!" the Raven barked.

"My children were almost murdered! At their own table! In my House!"

Morgan rose. "Sir, you aren't…"

"Quiet!" he bellowed. "I am the Director here!"

Immediately he regretted the outburst, for there was someone in the room with more power than he who was showing the greater command.

The little lordling's response was restrained and adroit. "Director, I will defer to you on the internal politics of the Houses, but it is my judgment that we continue this fiction until Conclave. Your sister and Constance Meryl already suspect. If the truth were revealed now, Conclave will be an uproar and any chance we have of apprehending the perpetrator will be lost."

"But, if you declared your authority, couldn't you enter the Houses and search them?" Morgan asked.

_Yes! Finally, a relevant action item! This could be done!_

"Can't with one Hound," Sallowpad said. "The surprise is lost with the first search."

"Precisely," the lordling replied. "And we are too few to enforce a cessation of activity in the other Houses while we undertook the search."

Morgan looked thoughtful and had the gall to agree with the Narnians. "Yes, I see that," she said slowly. "And a search would probably only confirm what you already know – that the rahat and poison are both in each House."

The lordling nodded. "To conduct an inquiry that will actually generate results as opposed to confusion that would only aid the perpetrator, I need more support than we have available." It was the first hint of frustration that Linch had heard from the Narnian.

Still, he was disgusted. They were being sensible and shrewd and none of this had occurred to him.

"So, what do we do?" he bit out. "Nothing?" _Someone tried to murder my children._

"Of course not." Sallowpad retorted. "Sir?"

Linch realized that the Raven was speaking to his lordling but using the Director's own honorific.

"That is the fourth time I have been called _Sir_ today," the lordling said with a grim smile. "What is it?"

"You know we need a stronger force and support for what is to come. I should fly to the mainland and tell them our needs so they may set sail."

The lordling rose, crossed to the desk where the Raven perched, and knelt at the Bird's feet. "And again you divine my thoughts, Friend. Narnia will come, though I do wish them here sooner given the events of today. But not at risk to you."

The Raven hopped back and forth. "I have flown the distance many times before."

"You were younger when you last made this trip, Sallowpad. The weather is ill for flying and I will not lose you over this."

Linch bristled over what was implicit. The lordling was valuing a bird over his own children.

Sallowpad squawked, obviously affronted. "Don't be foolish! I will go south, to Tashbaan, first, and enlist our Ambassador's help."

Harold sighed, deeply and with regret. "Well thought out, Chief. As always."

"Open the window," the Raven ordered curtly. "I leave at once."

"Are you rested, do you need food or water before leaving?" the lordling asked his bird.

"I am ready. Journey soon started is one soon ended."

Sallowpad hopped on to the arm the lordling offered. "Chief, you know as well as I how to advise the others and convey what we need here. Urge them with all haste."

"I shall."

The lordling stood, balancing the bird on his arm, and Morgan quickly crossed the room and opened the window to the chill wind.

"Good bye, Chief," Morgan said. "Good luck."

"Farewell, Banker Morgan, Director."

"Go, Friend, with Aslan's blessings and my thanks."

The Raven launched from the lordling's arm, struggled to right himself, and flapped out the window. Linch saw Harold salute the bird, two fingers to his brow. Morgan shut the window as the lordling turned away and fell heavily back into his seat. He bent over in his chair, elbows on knees, head in his hands.

Linch watched as his daughter went to the man's side.

"Don't," Morgan said, a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't what?" The lordling shrugged, brushed her away irritability, and Linch felt his anger deepen. This Harold valued a bird more highly than Linch's greatest treasure and treated her callously.

"Don't blame me for saying what you need to hear!" Morgan retorted, and Linch wanted to cheer his daughter and kick the man out of his House forever.

"And what is that?" the lordling snapped.

Morgan's hand returned to her lover's hunched shoulder. "What Jalur told you before. Command does not sit easily with you, at first."

The lordling looked up and stared at Morgan. Even though Linch did not want to see it, the remorse was obvious and the anger drained away. Harold put his hand over Morgan's. "You are right, of course. I apologize. Thank you for that reminder."

Crooked smiles passed between them and he rested his head at Morgan's waist.

"It's the right decision and Sallowpad wouldn't do it if he thought he couldn't make it," Morgan said. "And it's smart to go to South to Calormen, first." She combed her fingers through the hair of the man's head nestled against her side.

Linch felt an intruder except that this was in his own office. This sentimentality was not something Linch had ever seen in Morgan before.

"Excuse me? Morgan, would you leave us please? I would like to speak to _Harold_ alone."

"Of course, Sir," she replied with a return to her accustomed and very welcome briskness.

"I will meet you in your office," the lordling said. It was a statement, not a question, and almost an order.

"I'll go straight there."

Harold kissed Morgan's hand. "Jina will guard you. The Rats are with Pierce and they are moving him into my room. Stay together. Neither of you should leave the House or see anyone without me and Jina present. Nothing will happen to you if we remain vigilant."

She nodded and kissed his hand in return.

Morgan then turned to him with her usual focus. Someone had tried to murder her today and yet Morgan managed to continue her work. She was an astounding Banker. "Are you done with the Tashbaan account, Sir? Or do you want me to finish it?"

_Astounding, and impudent!_ He was so proud of her. "I'll finish it, Morgan. After I speak to Harold."

She left, shutting the door behind her.

He and the lordling sat some time, silent, staring at one another. Though he recognized the negotiation tactic when he saw it, Linch finally gave up. He had to finish the Tashbaan accounting and he wanted this little lordling guarding his children. It was all savage and barbaric, but he assumed the man knew how to kill. It was surely his highest and best use since he could do nothing to find the murderer.

"Someone tried to kill my children."

"Yes," the lordling replied. "They might both have died without Willa and Jina."

"And there was your intervention as well. Pierce said you thought something was wrong first, even before Willa."

There was a curt nod and a mood even more grim settled on the lordling. Linch felt his question answered; the man must know how to kill and must have done so before. How else could he have so quickly recognized the threat posed by an innocuous block of sweets on Two Hearts Day?

"So what do we do?" Linch asked.

"What we must," the lordling said. "We proceed to Conclave. The perpetrator knows he, or she, failed, and in that lies our great advantage."

"You think he or she will try again?"

The lordling nodded.

Linch felt the anger and horror rise again. "And so you dangle my children as bait?"

He had hoped to goad the smug, little lordling child, but the man did not give the satisfaction. "Director, please, know that I believe nothing these Bankers could muster will get by the sophistication of the Narnian guard. This is horrific, but we do know how to recognize and respond to such physical threats. Your children will be safe, your House secured, and justice _will be_ served on the perpetrator."

He might be a fool, but no one who had been in this position would judge him weak for pleading. "You will protect my children? My House? Can you promise me that?"

The lordling stared at him, frowning, and the confusion in his young face did not instill the confidence Linch desperately needed.

"You do not understand, do you?" the lordling finally said. "You do not see?"

"See what?" Linch snapped, realizing he sounded very like the Raven.

Slowly, Harold the clerk put his hands into the neck of his shirt and withdrew a leather tie. He pulled it over his head and removed the ring that hung from it. With the solemnity of a great ceremony, Harold put the ring on his finger.

"The Lone Islands and all its people, you, and your family, and all the members of your House, you all are _mine_. By oath taken before Aslan himself, Creator, First and Last, by my life, and death, by my honour and that of my family, I am sworn to protect you."

Linch stared, amazed and dumbstruck. Never had he heard such words, nor heard such conviction. Who was this person? Where had this empathy hidden? This strength? Where had he been? He made such promises – promises a desperate father clung to as flotsam in a storm. Linch stumbled from his chair and dropped to the feet of the man before him.

"Please, do not let Morgan and Pierce come to harm. I will give you anything, the wealth of my House, anything." Linch felt a panicked sob rise and furiously choked it back. He had not wept since he was a child.

The lordling clerk took his hands and Linch felt the calluses and scars that were not from quills alone. So close, he glimpsed a holder strapped to a strong arm and realized the man carried a knife under his fine linen sleeve. The ring on his hand was heavy gold and cleverly wrought, with a lion, a bird, and a scale.

"Director, still you misunderstand. You and yours have my love and my protection. You owe me nothing save your allegiance and even without that, still, I would protect you and your children."

How could someone give something and ask nothing in return? "You will?" the Banker asked, still unbelieving.

"Always, in this world and beyond, to the end."

"Thank you." Linch bent over the hands and kissed the ring of the King.

* * *

Chapter 10 to follow, Conclave

In which a Hoard of Bankers meet and count money and someone crashes the Conclave.

* * *

Phew.

**Krystyna** and **E** had both mentioned the old Soviet tool of "painting the grass green" when dignitaries rolled into town. This was mentioned in TQSiT when Vice President Wallace visited Siberia and did not perceive how the trip had been doctored. I observed the phenomenon first hand when living in Eastern Europe in the early 1990's. I've tried to reflect some of that in the description of Narrowhaven. For inspiration of the walled and tiered city divided into districts, I recalled the _contrade_ of Siena, which include Onda (the Wave) and Selva (forest).

I picked up a few anonymous reviewers and I've responded to your commentary on the Live Journal. Thank you so much.

Also! YES! The Narnia Fic Exchange is back for the summer! If you write Narnia fic, consider signing up! I did _Under Cover_ and _The Maenad of the Maquis_ last year and **athousandwinds** wrote the wonderful _More than kisses letters mingle souls_ for me. Links are in my LJ.

**Anastigmat**, that shopping trip is for you.


	10. Chapter 10 Conclave, Part 1

**Harold and Morgan: Not a Romance**  
**Chapter 10, Conclave, Part 1**

_Conclave, but, first, a brief look back to the summer._

* * *

_I hurt._

The low buzz of a fly was too loud. Pierce pried open a gummy eye and shut it again. The sun was too bright. It was hot.

_Where am I?_

_Zalindreh_. He remembered he was in Zalindreh on the audit. _A Bankers' guest house near the docks._

_Why do I hurt?_

Narnian liquor. That's what it was. A Narnian ship had made port and sold them a bottle of what they called _Lightning_.

_They. Me and someone else. Who was they?_

_Maeve Stanleh_. He and Maeve had toasted their reconstruction of the first year income statement for the pyramid scheme and…

_Maeve_.

Feeling his heart leap into his parched mouth, Pierce again slowly opened an eye.

And saw hanging from the bedpost what was unmistakably the red working summer shift of a woman Banker of the House of Stanleh.

Pierce closed his eyes again now feeling the sensation and weight of another body next to him in the tangled bed. It wasn't a sensation he'd enjoyed very much in his twenty-three years. He regretted he would not live to repeat the experience.

The list of people who would line up to kill him for having drunken sex with Maeve Stanleh was very long.

Maeve.  
His father, Director Linch.  
Maeve  
Maeve's grandfather, Director Stanleh  
Maeve  
Maeve's brother, Seth  
Morgan.

Pierce desperately wanted to creep out of the bed, quietly gather his things, and disappear. Maybe he could flee to Narnia, join Morgan, and get eaten by a tiger or something. The problem was that they were in his room, lying naked in his bed. He was not sure where his clothes were, either.

It was not in the Linch nature to look away from the consequences of an act. The Linch had the exact opposite instinct, in fact. Leave no stone unturned, gather every fact, obtain the clearest perspective that was possible. So, as it was in the Linch character to investigate and as this was likely to be his last opportunity anyway, Pierce carefully and quietly turned his head so he could get a better look at Maeve, in daylight without any clothes on. It had been dark last night, he reasoned. And they had been drunk. He thought Maeve's body had been a magnificent sight, but he really was not completely certain. _Trust, but verify._

It was a doomed man's last request. There had been so few of them he was able to recall each of his prior occasions with perfect clarity.

There had been that distant cousin on Mother's side, the Archen girl, whose principal attraction had been that she'd been eager, but otherwise, light on the top, heavy on the bottom, and bad skin. Dara Sterns, of course, with her clever hands and big mouth, and she was pretty enough, though heavy top and bottom, and _so_ doughy and pale. And, she never stopped talking, except when she was… well, better not to think of _that_ when naked Maeve Stanleh was next to him.

And there were those dancers from Lower Town who always followed Alan Meryl around because he was good looking and who followed Seth because he paid well. Some of the Calormene slave girls were lovely, but Pierce knew better than to get within three arms' lengths of any of them if he wanted to keep his hands, arms, and any other dangling bits. And no smart Banker was ever alone with a young Tarkheena. Or, an old one, for that matter.

Obviously, he needed to increase his _N_ to get anything close to a statistically adequate sample size. Maeve was laying on her side, facing him, arm thrown over her eyes. It would have been easier – better – if she had been on her back but this would be adequate. He lifted up the coverlet for a better look and, _oh Tash's hell_, he should not have looked. Carefully, slowly, he eased the coverlet away and had the thrill of watching the effect as a breeze from the open window dusted over her dark skin. Pierce felt a primal surge that had nothing to do with auditing.

_So, that's what insane, put your head through a wall, throw caution to the wind, lust feels like. _

He wanted to yank the coverlet completely off, wake Maeve up, and repeat right now everything he thought he remembered them doing last night, but do it all sober and in broad, bright daylight, so he could see it. Because Maeve Stanleh had a body that Calormene poets would sing odes to and a Tarkaan would give up a war horse for, with an extra slave girl tossed in.

The problem was simple – would the list of people wanting to kill him just get longer if he had sober sex with Maeve Stanleh instead of drunken sex?

His thorough perusal was interrupted when Maeve groaned. Pierce quickly lowered the coverlet.

"Damn Narnians," Maeve muttered. Her arm fell away from her face and her eyes opened. And then narrowed.

"What are you doing in my bed, Pierce Linch?"

"You are in my bed, Maeve Stanleh."

She groaned again and _praise be the five gods_, rolled onto to her back so that the coverlet slipped away. Maeve glanced down, looked at him, and with a third groan, flailed about to sit up in the bed.

"Good morning?" he tried.

She harrumphed, and looked about the room, at the bottle lying on its side, the cups on the table, together and abandoned once the kissing had started, scattered pillows, and her summer shift hanging from the post like a Stanleh banner from the Counting House. Gauzy curtains billowed from the open windows, with the breeze carrying in the sounds of the sea and gulls.

It was all bright and beautiful and, except for the below stairs housekeeper, they were the only ones in the guesthouse, and would be until the audit concluded.

Sitting up was assuredly not the direction in which Pierce wanted this to go, but he nevertheless pulled himself up next to her.

"I am such a fool," Maeve finally said, running fingers through her wild hair.

That was not an auspicious beginning. "I don't think so," he replied. "But if you are, we share in it, with the Narnians." He would rather Maeve blamed the Dwarf and the talking thing with the hooves and horns who had sold them the bottle.

"Your sister is going to kill me."

"Actually, I think she will kill me and plot revenge on you," Pierce said. If Morgan ever came back from Narnia, that is. Reading between the lines of her short, awkward letters, Pierce had the sense something strange was occurring to Morgan over the summer in the Northern country.

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better" Maeve said with a sneer. "Death is preferable to Morgan's revenge, don't you think?"

Pierce did not want to die without having sex with Maeve again. Sober. In bright, shining daylight with her underneath him and on top of him and next to him, and any which way, and with his eyes open the whole time.

Thinking he heard her tone lighten a little, Pierce put a hand out, aching to touch her skin again.

"What if I'm pregnant!" Maeve burst out.

Pierce pulled back his hand, feeling a sting. Death, pain, calamity, a lifetime of auditing Guild accounts, never being able to track down and recover the assets squandered in this pyramid scheme that had occupied them the last month, and not having sex with Maeve again, yes, these all merited consternation. But _pregnancy_?

"What if you are?" Pierce asked, lowering his voice and hoping Maeve did the same. Her volume was making his head hurt. Proximity to her body was making everything else hurt and it was really difficult to think. "The Memorandum of Understanding between the Houses governs. Granted, I do not think the MOU has been invoked between Linch and Stanleh in over eighty years, but there is precedent for pregnancy and procedures for it."

He was proud of managing that analysis given the hungry draw of Maeve's breasts. She wasn't even trying to cover them and he thought they would both feel better about things if he could get closer to them.

Maeve rolled her eyes. "But pregnant during shut in? Conclave! How could I be pregnant during Conclave?"

"Why do I know these provisions better than you?" Pierce asked. He wished she wasn't raising such a fuss. He wanted to touch her. He wanted her to touch him. All over. Maeve's gripping handshake was a crude joke among the men but the prospect of her hands on him was not funny at all right now. It was intensely erotic and enormously distracting.

"Didn't you know that all the Houses donate a sum based upon gross earnings as a compulsory gift to the child, not to exceed 2%."

"Gross?" Maeve repeated, sounding impressed.

"Yes. And, you are entitled under the implementing Rules to first refusal of any confirmatory audits and whoever you delegate to cannot refuse them."

"You mean I could shove the Guilds off on someone else?"

"Absolutely."

"I could make Morgan do all my Guild work?" Maeve sounded far too gleeful, but then Pierce would shove off those tedious accounts on anyone, up to and including his sister, if given the opportunity. He wondered if the House Rules had similar provisions for fathers.

"Wouldn't it be terrific if you had twins? Then we could each get one!"

"Twins!" Maeve shrieked. She buried her head in her hands. Pierce finally put an arm around her and it felt wonderfully, having her skin under his hands. She appeared so cold and hard, and felt so warm and soft.

He had never thought of it much before, and had given no thought to it whatsoever last night, but decided now that he would not mind a child at all. That was probably the Archen in him, or the Calormene influence, where the measure of man was calculated in children fathered and supported. _I did this. I fathered a child on this woman. Me._ Even the Narnian Kings had not managed _that_. _Me. Mine. She is mine_.

Yes, Pierce decided he would quite like that feeling.

Internal politics aside – and those were a mess – upper management was always looking to train children and young people into the Houses. That was how Constance Meryl had come in. The Linch Director would be thrilled with a child directly of his own blood and would battle it out with Stanleh over which House would lay the claim. But, regardless…

"Maeve, we are really being premature. If it happened, it happened, and we shall have to address it. But, it might not have."

"I suppose," she said with a sigh. "I'll know in a few days."

"You're probably fine then." There were a few of those Calormene books in the Linch library that addressed these issues, though they usually talked about ridiculous ways to father boys, not how to avoid children. He knew Morgan borrowed the books and actually read them. He usually just looked at the detailed, numbered illustrations and could not imagine accomplishing any of them, though it was fun to consider it.

"I'm just angry with myself for being so stupid." Maeve raised her arms over her head in a stretch that was nearly his total undoing. "I thought I'd be smarter than this when it finally happened." Her hands fell into her lap with a resigned thump.

"Well, we were…" Pierce paused, froze, and it was as if he and every one of his lusting parts fell into an icy Archen pond.

"What do you mean, when it finally… happened?" His voice hiked up. "You mean this was your first… I was your first…"

Her glare froze him further, but really, weren't they well beyond the poisonous looks?

"I was so amazing you didn't notice?" Maeve replied acidly.

"Well, I…"

She shook her head, absolutely disgusted. Pierce knew that insulting one's partner was not a way to obtain repeat performance.

"Forget it, Pierce. We'll just pretend this never happened, which won't be hard since you don't even remember it."

"How?" he stammered, still thunderstruck by the revelation.

"How? Because you were drunk, that's how! We both were!"

"No, not that." Were men blind? Granted, he'd never looked beyond, or under, her Stanleh robe, but others, surely? "I mean, how could this have been your first time?"

"Who would I have had sex with? Who would have wanted to? I'm in a House full of old men cousins," she retorted, voice rising. "And as you well know, with the likes of Dara Sterns, no Banker close to my age has ever been interested in _me_."

Maeve pulled the coverlet around her protectively. It was her first showing of modesty and that, it seemed, was defensive, not shy. "We might as well be Linch about it and call it as it is," she continued bitterly. "You had to be drunk before you even noticed me."

She sighed and slid off the bed. "So, let's just forget it happened, blame the Narnians, and you can go back to whatever sweet, pretty, blonde thing you have on the side."

Maeve stood and the coverlet slid away. She reached for her gown, exposing a strip of long arm and neck, and, _oh five gods_, he had surely died and passed through the fire to the afterlife.

"What?" Maeve asked, sounding even more peevish and noticing his gap-mouthed awe. "What are you staring at? Suddenly realize just how revolting I am for your soft and gentle Northern tastes?"

"No!" he blurted out as she shook the gown out, preparing to step into it. "Don't!"

"Don't what?" Maeve put her hands on her hips and, which had the effect of throwing her breasts out. If he did not do something about this immediately, it was going to be very embarrassing.

"Oh for Tash's sake, Maeve, there's no meeting of the minds here."

"We understand each other perfectly, Pierce," Maeve replied and he could hear the hurt and anger growing. "We're both idiots, so let's just try to scrape out of here with dignity. And if you ever say anything cruel about me, you can bet whatever I say and do will be much worse."

He didn't doubt that for a moment. More to the point, this situation was spiraling needlessly out of control. "Maeve!" he cried. "Would you listen to me!"

"So give me something to listen to!" she snapped. Maeve bent over to step into her gown and Pierce felt his mouth turn as dry as ash.

The words were strangled and stuck and he had to practically spit them out. "You are absolutely gorgeous and I am obviously an idiot to not see it before. We shouldn't have done this and I know that but I don't regret it at all and I don't care about anything except being with you again."

Maeve started. She straightened, staring at him. Her shock was palpable, and then it gave way to true fury. "Don't you dare mock me, Pierce Linch or this will be the last audit you…"

"Oh shut up, Maeve. You are far and away the most beautiful woman I've ever slept with and I think you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. So come back to bed before I do go all Northern Barbarian on you." He held out his hands to her.

There was a crack, an ever so small crack, and something in cold, calculating Maeve Stanleh softened, just as it had last night. "You're just having one on me." Though, now she was sounding unsure.

"Banker's Oath," he replied. A Banker didn't invoke the Oath casually, but that was the point. It was their shared language and they both knew what it meant. He was Linch and Banker and that meant dealing honestly with her under the Rules of their Houses. Even if he never had Maeve Stanleh again, she should leave his room with the truth and her pride. And, to the extent he was capable of strategic thinking beyond getting her back in his bed, he did not want Maeve Stanleh as an enemy. It was a mistake but, by Tash, he had enjoyed her and she needed to know that.

"You …" Her gown slid from her hands back to the floor. "You… Really? More than anyone else you've been with? You really think I'm … beautiful?" The last word was more a whisper.

"Yes."

The look in her face was one that made opposing parties recoil in fear. "How much more?"

"How much more?" Pierce repeated. "You mean a relative ranking?"

"Yes, on a straight ten-point scale. And one with evenly spaced intervals, not diminishing or weighted. How do I compare to Dara Sterns?"

He snorted. It was no contest. "She's a five, maybe."

"Who else? There was a cousin, wasn't there?"

"How did you know about her? Seth? Or was it Morgan trying to make polite conversation?"

"Constance, who is extremely well-informed, by the way. And don't change the subject. Where does that cousin rank?"

'If Dara is a five, she's a three. Four if it's dark."

Maeve looked more mollified, though still not satisfied. "And where am I on this evenly proportioned, ten-point scale?"

"Eighteen," Pierce replied. He clambered forward and grasped her hand. "And one-half."

Maeve still resisted, but she did take a step forward, toward him. "So, I am three point seven times more attractive than Dara Sterns on a ten-point scale?"

He pulled her more persistently, to him, to the bed. Surely this is what Northern Kings and Southern Tarkaans felt, that burn that a beautiful woman ignited and that only she could quench.

"You are so far off the scale, Maeve Stanleh, the Calormene gods have to create a whole new valuation table for you alone."

It was just going to be that one time, or well, that _one_ morning … that stretched into a lazy hot afternoon, a leisurely swim, and then a cool, dark night.

Then, the messengers and couriers began arriving from the Houses requesting and providing information on their audit. Their hired privateers were reporting on the futile efforts to recover the monies the perpetrators had squandered. They had hoped to find gems and fineries that could be seized and sold off quickly to pay off investors who had lost their principal. It was harder than they had expected because most of the money had gone to a Zalindreh buildings and works guild and then disappeared into Calormene hands that even privateers did not want to trifle with.

They managed for a few days, studiously not getting too close. It was easier to remember all the reasons this was ill-advised when they were both sober, clothed, and buried in ill-kept accounting records. Their irritation grew, though not at each other, which had a unifying effect upon them. Maeve was angry with her Director in embarking on this twisted scheme that had spiraled so far out of control. Pierce was annoyed with how Morgan had handled it thereafter. He knew the pyramid had offended Morgan's very well-developed sense of fairness, but there had been lengthy disclosures of the risks and it had been written plainly – _You could lose your money._

And then, one day, their tempers were frayed by a particularly stupid Sterns representative demanding updates to which he was not entitled and offering ignorant opinions. They tossed him out and then a drenching thunderstorm rolled in and the lightning flashing in the sky ignited something just as the liquor had before.

The next time, there did not seem to be any reason at all. One moment they were sitting in their chairs, pouring over a purported income statement. Maeve got up for a fresh bottle of ink and, suddenly, she was in his lap.

There was less and less pretense after that. Passing caresses, the stray touch, the sly look. After making do a few times, they stopped pretending it was accidental and faced the reality of what they were doing. He sought out a local physic, Maeve consulted with a midwife, and, well, they were in Calormen, where such things were refined so that Tarkheenas could take lovers with fewer repercussions. He would have been proud to return to Narrowhaven with Maeve well advanced in pregnancy – it would certainly have sweetened the bitter for their respective Directors, though the ensuing negations over which House would claim the offspring would take years. The home politics were brutal, but blood would tell. Twins were obviously the answer but Maeve was adamant and so the point was closed.

Pierce knew what he was. He was not one of those Tarkaans with the war horse and curved swords and a harem, or one of the Archen lords with the perpetually pregnant wife, or one of the Narnian Kings, and everyone had heard _those_ stories. _Trees_, it was whispered. _Things with hooves_. _Out of doors, rutting in the grass_. Pierce didn't have the sword or the horses or women that went with those things. He was a Banker, the one in the background, carrying the ledgers, and quills, whispering and advising, and calculating the costs.

But Maeve… The way she seemed so cold and distant and melted into something so desperate and needy and perfect, for him. With him. It was their secret. It made him feel like what he thought those other men, the Lords and Tarkaans, felt when the girls flirted and fell at their feet or braided their Lords' hair and poured their wine and pushed their breasts into their men's hands for a fondling.

And he knew she was more beautiful than any of those dancers and slaves and wives and mistresses. And that was part of the thrill, too. She was a Banker to those same Lords and Tarkaans – the tall, sunburnt men with broad shoulders, strong hands, commanding voices, and sharp swords. And she'd never slept with any of them before. He wanted to lock her away and keep her all to himself, which was untenable, because Maeve would never stand for such a thing, and he didn't really want that, either. In fact, it increased the thrill even more – others only saw the Banker and her robe, but he alone knew what was underneath it.

He felt like he should throw Maeve over his shoulder and her carry off to some cave like he'd heard the Northerners would do. Not that he actually could – he never carried anything heavier than a pile of ledgers. That didn't matter with Maeve. He was desired. Desirable. For the first time in his life, he was a _man_, first.

They were Bankers, both. Bred to it, born to it, trained to it. Life was ordered columns and protocols and the right rules had to be followed, the right standards adhered to, and it was all so very neat and predictable. But this thing they shared, this was hot and messy, physical, and irrational. They were drunk on it.

It would have continued, happily and productively. The only time they became peevish at one another was contemplating how to manage the situation on the return to Narrowhaven, which they were both dreading. Other duties mooted the discussion when the ship came, sailing from Tashbaan in the north. Seth arrived with news from Archenland that Linch had gotten a head start in the race for the Narnia business, that the High King was the guest of the Tisroc, and so Stanleh was going courting. Maeve had to hurry to Tashbaan and make up for what Sterns was trying to accomplish.

The night before their departure, Seth went off to find his own amusements in Zalindreh and left the two of them alone.

They finished the poisonous bottle of Lightning.

"I will share the Narnia work with you, if we bring it in as a client," Maeve told him, as gently as she could manage. "We could do a 70/30 split, maybe."

"Maybe," Pierce agreed as he combed her black hair over the silken sheets of their bed.

Maeve's confidence in landing Narnia as a client was not misplaced. With what were reported to be true, co-ruling Queens in Narnia, AD Maeve Stanleh thought she was well positioned to put her House's very best forward. In contrast, Morgan had been unchecked in Narnia for weeks. Linch would be fortunate if Morgan had not alienated them all with her peculiar, blunt ways. Forlornly, Pierce wondered if the Narnians would at least be impressed with her honesty.

They had heard nothing bad of Morgan, admittedly. There had been a garbled account out of Archenland that Morgan had been invited to accompany one of the Queens on an expedition. There was also that grumbling admiration from a Seven Isles merchant ship reporting of unexpectedly hard Narnian bargaining which also suggested Morgan's influence – if traders had landed at Cair Paravel, Morgan would have been incapable of restraint. The rumors all sounded promising more than concerning – hence why Maeve was haring off to see the High King in Tashbaan to make a counter-bid for the account.

But, even if it went well in Narnia, Morgan's presence was unofficial and she did not have the authority to bind Linch. With Maeve and Seth both in Tashbaan, and assuming the High King had the authority to so act, Stanleh could have a preliminary deal in place with Narnia by summer's end.

Pierce felt frustrated, but this was the way of it, for now, and the way it had been for years. It was why Morgan's joint venture with Alan Meryl was so valuable to both Linch and Meryl. Alan would have charmed the Narnians; Morgan would have impressed them.

Maeve knew all this. There was an opportunity and so she would pursue it and he could not be angry or disappointed about it.

"I'm sorry, Pierce."

He laced her fingers in his own and gently squeezed her hand. "Better you than Sterns."

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer, and her expression was so very smug. "I love it when you compare me favorably to Sterns."

It was the first time that word had been spoken between them. Her hold tightened. "Before I go, you should know that I could love you, Pierce Linch. Banker's Oath."

Maeve said the words boldly as if she feared his response would be a counter-offer of lesser value. Instead, "I'll meet your proposal and raise it. I already do love you, Maeve Stanleh. Banker's Oath."

00OO

Though Bankers predicted how rainfall or heat might affect crops and investments, earth and sea were not in their blood – not in the way of the Narnians or the Archen farmers, the Seven Isles sailors, or the tribesmen of the Calormene deserts. Still, there was one natural moment they all felt and the change woke Pierce immediately. He felt the softer wind against the walls of the House and heard the drip of melting ice. All over the Lone Islands, people would be suddenly waking to the same sounds of Winter's end.

Conclave would begin in four days.

His bare feet touched the floor but did not meet the cold as they had for so many weeks. Between the weather change and dwelling on Maeve, Pierce knew he would not sleep again that night, so he might as well make a start on it. Coming into the hall, he saw Morgan's own door cracked open and a light from her office. It was Harold, though, not Morgan hunched over a desk.

"Good morning, Pierce," Harold said, not turning around.

Pierce assumed that Harold knew he was there without looking because one of the Talking Animals had said that he had awoken and was coming into the office. Though, it could also be simply that the man knew what occurred behind him. He did not understand the full scope of Harold's latent talents.

Pierce had felt uncomfortable with the name _Harold_ after his revelatory role on Two Hearts Day. He could not imagine how Morgan had ended up being the lover to a Narnian King – given that he was now across the hall from them, it was impossible to ignore the relationship. The King had ordered him to continue the fiction, and so he did. Pierce was very skilled at following his superior's clear instructions.

"I suppose it is morning," Pierce replied. "Hello, Jina," he added, though the Hound only opened an eye. He heard some rustling in the corners and knew it was one of the Rats. Morgan had said he would get accustomed to someone aware of his every move – at some point over shut in, he began thinking of the Narnians as _someones_ rather _some thing or some animal_.

Pierce went over to the window. It was too dark to see out but, on putting a hand to the thick glass, he could feel the creeping warmth already. "The weather finally broke."

"It woke us both up," Harold replied. "Morgan went back to sleep. It would be better if you did as well."

"There's little point. I might as well get some stimulant and begin organizing the accountings we will be presenting at Conclave." Pierce turned away from the window. There was a pot on the extra worktable. The tea was cold but he poured himself a cup and stirred a heaping spoon of sugar in even if it would not dissolve. Maeve would tease him for all the sugar he consumed.

He set the cup down on the table, well away from the ledgers – spills at this late time could be a disaster. The pile was so high, he could not see over it once he sat. The one on top was the Zalindreh Building and Works. That one was Morgan's and Pierce put it to the side.

Zalindreh brought back thoughts of Maeve and this time, he did not censor the question that had dogged him for days. "Do you think Maeve was involved in the poisoning?" He had to peer around the ledgers to see Harold.

Harold carefully set down his lead and turned to face him, looking very serious and not surprised at the query.

"Whatever her feelings for you, Maeve's feelings for Morgan are very strong as well."

"That's not responsive, sir," Pierce countered. "I asked if you thought Maeve was involved."

Harold certainly knew how to let silence do the work for him. "I do not know, Pierce," he finally said, slowly. "The note purportedly directed the rahat to either you or Morgan, or both, which suggests to me several possible goals and therefore several suspects."

"Disrupt the succession at Meryl?"

Harold nodded. "That is one. If Morgan died, she could not lead Meryl, and if you died, Morgan would lead Linch. Under either scenario, Meryl is leaderless, a new heir must b e found and a new venture negotiated with Alan Meryl." He toyed with the sharp tip of the letter opener on his desk. "Revenge, in the form of destruction of Linch, cannot be eliminated as a motive, either. Conceivably, I might have even been the intended victim with you two as bystanders. Or, it was intended for you and Maeve, as you were supposed to have been together that evening."

With a sigh, Pierce reached for his cup and drained it. He would need to go down to the kitchens for a fresh pot. At one time, he would have had Harold to do it. Now, it really did not feel right to ask a King to fetch and carry. Harold still played the role of silent secretary and lackey, but there was a new watchfulness and no small irony.

"I had hoped you would say that you do not think she is involved," Pierce admitted. "I suppose I am grateful you are being so even-handed and not judging her prematurely or solely on the basis of Morgan's rivalry with her."

Harold looked down at his hand and twisted the heavy gold ring he wore. _His signet_, Morgan had said.

"Those who are wronged are under my protection," Harold said quietly. "But, those who commit the wrongs are as well and often need my protection even more." Thoughtfully, he ran a finger over the signet. "Finding guilt is a terrible thing, Friend. I do not rush to judgment."

He would _definitely_ not ask _Harold_ to trek to the kitchens for another pot. He recalled now with embarrassment his scorn for prophecies and his presumption in lecturing a King. He could not quite believe all the stories, not yet, but continuing disbelief was requiring a great deal more effort.

Harold rose from his seat, seeming restless after the calm. His tea cup rattled as he went to the window. "The change in the weather will have made it easier for Sallowpad. And fairer sailing. Narnia is coming, Aslan willing."

The last was spoken with the solemnity of a prayer. Aslan was the god of Narnia, a lion, it was said. Pierce supposed a big cat god was not any stranger than the bird-headed Tash or the six-breasted Zardeenah, or children made Kings and killing a Witch so powerful she stopped the sun from shining.

"I feel like we should have never returned from Zalindreh," Pierce said, glancing at the ledger for the Building and Works Society. Morgan intended to expose the association as a tool for funding Prince Namavar's anti-Northern faction. It was the Stanleh Director's own client, so Morgan's accusation would be very divisive. How would Maeve vote? "Maeve even talked of just leaving our Houses, taking our portfolios, and forming our own House, as we wished it. Dreams, really."

Harold's long, quiet look was not reassuring, exactly. Pierce could not tell at all what the man was thinking. Belatedly, he wondered if his admission was ill-advised.

"Please do not tell anyone that," Pierce added. "I would not want my House and family to think me disloyal. Maeve might be able to do it, but I don't know if I could ever leave Linch."

"Do not concern yourself, Pierce." Harold's voice was different – when you heard it, you knew immediately that the person speaking was no deferential secretary. I will certainly not repeat such things. You have my word on that."

As with the invocation of the lion, there was the ring of an oath in his words.

"It does please me to hear that you might consider such bold steps. Should that day come and you and Maeve wish to make your own start, you have only to ask and Narnia would assist."

The thrill of the promise and encouragement immediately gave way to reality. "It would throw the House succession plans into such disarray," Pierce said, trying not to sound as glum as he felt. It was all idle wishing and he was glad Maeve did not hear the offer made. She would be packing her trunk. He thought. He hoped. Assuming she had not tried to murder him.

He pushed away from the desk, wanting to escape that close room and the unspoken accusations. But, he could not leave the House without Harold as guard. "I am going to the Kitchens. Would you like fresh tea, Sir?"

"Thank you, Pierce, I would," Harold replied, turning again to his secretary's desk. "No milk."

00OO00

At the second bell, floating on a haze of coffee and tea and the bleariness of too little sleep, the Bankers of Linch departed their House into a pale, damp morning. Solemnly, the Linch Director met his peers of Stanleh, Sterns and Meryl in the Bankers' Alley, each emerging from the Houses bearing their names. Silently, they walked, the Directors first, flanked by their ADs, and the juniors and clerks behind them.

Pierce fell in behind their Director, Morgan next to him. He felt this daily procession was like those of the priests and priestesses who paraded in the streets during the rites to Tash in the Calormene temples. The Bankers made their pilgrimage in worship of a different god, for trade and profit, and they took the Walk to the temple of the Counting House.

In had been so for the last ten-day – Conclave from morning until late every night as each House presented and defended the accountings and the Directors and ADs voted to accept the account, or send it back for modification and revote, or reject it outright as not in accordance with standards of the Code.

The Directors began the slow climb up the ancient steps of the Counting House, their Bankers and staff following. The Counting House was built like a castle fortification – Archen stoneworkers had carved the building out of the cliffs above Narrowhaven Harbour hundreds of years ago.

On the second landing of steps slippery with dew, Pierce looked down into the Harbour below. With the morning mists still thick, he could not see them, but he knew merchant ships from every Known Land were out there, waiting, just around the point, or bobbing just at the horizon. Under the Code, the Harbourmasters could not permit the ships to dock until the Bankers had approved the soundness of every enterprise seeking to do business. Once the Bankers voted to conclude Conclave, they would fling open the shutters of the Counting House and run up the green, red, yellow and blue pennants of the great Banking Houses. Then, with the surety of the Bankers' blessings on the businesses gathering, the merchants could open their shop doors, the waiting ships would moor in the Harbour, and the new season would begin.

Morgan jostled him lightly for his inattention and they continued the climb. In a sideways look, he saw Maeve. She was closely following the Stanleh Director, who was shockingly gaunt and visibly struggling on Seth's supporting arm. They did not think the Stanleh would survive the year. He had visibly weakened even over the long haul of Conclave. Maeve seemed tense and weary – but they all looked and felt like that and she bore the added stress that her Director and grandfather was dying.

The prospect induced nothing but gloom for Pierce could not see how their relationship could continue once Maeve rose to the Stanleh Directorship. His Director thought the affair was simply a youthful indiscretion to be tolerated until they tired of one another; there was Morgan and Maeve's intense rivalry – which he agreed with Harold was one the women had been driven into by their Houses; and the Conclave would never approve of a union that so disrupted House continuity and leadership. It was all written, signed, and non-negotiable: Maeve was to Stanleh, Morgan was to Meryl, and he would take Linch, and that was that.

By tradition, the most senior Director pounded the massive doors of the Counting House. The Stanleh's knock was a feeble tap but House representatives were within, waiting for their Bankers' arrival. The doors swung open and the Bankers filed into the great round conference room. Windows lined the walls; the cavernous space was shuttered, though light filtered through the slats. Openings high up near the ceiling let in light and air; through them Pierce could see the gray sky lightening to blue. A bird flitted in and then out.

They all filed down the center aisle of the conference room, some one hundred men and women of the great Banking Houses. Today, the benches with the Linch green cushions were on the far right; Stanleh was next to Linch, occupying the center column of red cushioned seats; Meryl and Sterns were on the far left.

He took his seat next to Morgan and Jina sat between them as she had all of Conclave. There had been snide remarks, at first, but Jina had endured it all silently and without any complaint louder than well-timed, long suffering sighs. As she went to her seat on the far side of the Conference Room, Constance Meryl nodded to them, and deliberately included Jina in her greeting. Jina's tail thumped twice, returning Constance's cordial _good morning_.

He agreed with Harold – Constance Meryl was wise to them, which was so odd, as she had never seemed clever, for all that Maeve insisted that she was very well-informed.

_And as for Harold_… Pierce looked about and saw Harold in a whispered consultation with _Peridan_. That disreputable man had appeared at the door the night before Conclave and Harold had commandeered a wash, food, and Linch green clothing for him. Peridan flirted with the women of the House, told hearty jokes with the men, made polite courtesies with the Director, and had the habit of clearing any table of coin when your back was turned.

At first, Pierce did not see why Peridan was pretending to be a Linch retainer, though he did it so well, it was easy to forget he had not always been there. Harold had said only that Peridan _had his back_. What Harold meant became clear when Pierce realized that both men were carrying concealed knives and he overheard their quiet discussion of whether to hide Harold's sword _(sword? what sword?)_ in the Conference Room and if so, where. Peridan was an additional guard who was trained to the sort of fight Bankers did not learn.

It was not reassuring.

Contrary to all protocol which would have seated Harold far back with the clerks, he slipped into a front row seat next to Pierce's own. When some of the junior Linch Bankers and clerks had complained about this upsetting of the hierarchy, the Director had silenced them with a "Because I say so and our client, King Lune, desires it." By Two Hearts Day and the end of shut in, all within the House knew that Clerk Harold was granted and assumed privilege beyond his supposed status. The House speculation was that Harold was in fact a high ranking Lord of Archenland and training to be the new Finance Minister or Exchequer to one of the Northern kingdoms.

With a scraping of benches on stone floor, the room turned quiet. The great doors closed, and, with a clang of the lock, they were sealed in. Tash willing, they were in the last days of Conclave. Then, they could all crawl into their beds and sleep until summer. Pierce pushed aside the depressing thought that he would probably be alone there.

That morning, it was Sterns' turn to open the session. The Sterns Director took to the dais in the front of the room. He was short, fat, nimble and loud and banged the gavel on the plain table with great vigor.

"We call the Conclave to order!"

Sterns launched into a review of the business for the day. He had the benefit of being concise and decisive – more so than Meryl, who tended to dither, and Stanleh, who rambled until he ran out of breath. The man would have been even more blessedly brief, but the Sterns AD, who also happened to be the Director's wife, had the bad habit of interrupting, contradicting, and arguing with her husband/Director. They were very snappish at one another and it was tedious, like listening to what sounded like a discussion of accountings, but that Pierce thought was really a marital spat about leaving clothes on the floor – his habit of doing so drove Maeve spare.

Were he and Maeve both married and Directors of their respective Houses, they would certainly never display their disagreements in such a public way. That idle fantasy occupied Pierce through most of the first session as the Conclave reviewed accountings that had already been presented, but sent back to the originating Houses to correct errors in assumptions or mathematics. The reworked accounts were cursorily reviewed and approved by vote. Once this dull work was complete, they would move to the contested accounts, and the real fight would begin.

Oo00

Conclave wore on, from morning to afternoon, with a break for coffee and food – bread, oil, olives, and salted fish. He was famished and desperately wanted the coffee, but waited as Jina carefully walked among the trays and drinks; people offered her treats and called her _good dog_. Jina ignored them all, completed her circuit, and then gave him a long, placid look. Only then did Pierce mix sugar in his coffee and drink the hot, bitter brew. He poured a cup for Morgan, for she was too engrossed in the upcoming Building and Works presentation to even notice the break around her.

"I shall give it to her," Harold said, taking the cup. With a grimace of distaste, Harold drank half the coffee so that it would not slosh when Morgan took it. He gained Morgan's attention with a soft touch to the shoulder, set the cup on the table, and slid it firmly into her hand. He pushed the ledger well away, waited until she had drunk her fill then took the cup back. Morgan smiled in a warm, brilliant way that Pierce had never seen and tugged gently on Harold's sleeve. Harold leaned down and she whispered something that made him smile in return. The regard between them was plain and it made him long for a return to a similar intimacy he had had with Maeve.

"How very awkward that must be for you," Constance Meryl said softly. "How long has this been going on?"

He was startled that she had sidled up to him and even more so at her notice. He could deny what she implied, but recalled Maeve's own admonition regarding Constance's perception.

"Since before shut in," he replied.

"So it began in Narnia?" she asked, sipping her own cup and not waiting for a reply. "Linch has certainly walked a fine line here. Congratulations."

Pierce replied with the correct rejoinder that was irrelevant only to one who did not know the Code. "You assume too much, Constance. Morgan was in Narnia unofficially. Harold of Abdon's apprenticeship is similarly unofficial, and done at the request of Lune, our client. Under the Code, Linch has no official tie to Narnia."

She shook her head, smiling. "Pierce, don't mimic my shortsighted Director. I was _congratulating_ Linch for your boldness and foresight. Do you really believe that our Code will last the summer? Our arcane rules on disclosures and conflicts? The Tisroc's selection of an heir is more straightforward than our infernal _joint ventures._"

Based upon weeks with _Harold_, Pierce had seen the Code was going to be changing. He had not thought Constance Meryl would see it as well. "It is premature speculation, Constance."

Her look turned severe. "Again, you sound like my patronizing Director. We are Narnia's own territory and her law will control, not ours. And based on the relationship _right there_," she tilted her head slightly in Morgan's direction, "it will happen soon and under Linch influence."

When someone said something so unexpected, it was better to say nothing in response. Constance, of course, recognized that tactic as well. She patted his arm and alarmingly went even further. "When Linch revises the Code, I do hope you will consider those changes that would be advantageous to your romantic predicament as well as mine. I have thoughts on that matter and other provisions of the Code, so please keep me in mind."

Pierce was still staring as Constance walked back to the Meryl side of the room and Alan when Maeve gently jostled his shoulder.

She nodded at him and her smile was for form only – thin and wan. Her hands shook as she sipped her coffee.

"Going that poorly?" he asked.

"As you would expect, and worse." She let out a short, disgusted sigh. "Is Morgan bent on presenting the case for rejecting the Zalindreh Building and Works Society?"

"Of course." Pierce wondered if he should apologize, and decided no, and for the same reason that Maeve was not apologizing. Whether to accept or reject the Society's accounting was a business judgment based upon the Code.

Turning so her back was to her brother and Director, Maeve whispered, "I am looking forward to hearing her analysis, Pierce."

_First Constance and now Maeve?_ Had something occurred at Conclave that he had missed? He should not be trying to persuade her – that was Morgan's responsibility based upon the accounting itself. Nevertheless, Maeve's statement meant something and he gratefully acknowledged it. "Thank you, Maeve. I hope you will keep an open mind to Morgan's recommendations."

Maeve nodded.

Sterns began pounding the gavel, signaling the resumption. Maeve returned to her seat next to Seth, who was speaking earnestly with his cadaverous Director. Among some old men, you saw a lifetime of dissolute living in their fat fingers, billowing girth, flabby chins, and tiny eyes. With the Stanleh Director, Pierce saw something hard, uncompromising, and wasting – the evidence of a man who had carved things into such fine slivers, he had shaved the flesh off his very bones.

Pierce sat again and the Director settled next to him, made a tiny adjustment to his linen cuff and arranged his robe just so. The Linch was not a vain man but, like all the Bankers, understood and manipulated the symbols that marked their authority –like Harold's signet ring, he supposed. Pierce straightened the Tree of Linch on his own robe and patted down the green AD shoulder knot. The Director nodded his approval.

Morgan was already on the dais; she had her look of singular focus signaling that even the roof crashing down upon them would not deter her. Harold was arranging her notes of the Building and Works Society on the table. There was a pause in his deft, economical movements and Harold sought out Jina. She had left Morgan's side to nose about the shuttered windows. The Hound turned around, stared fixedly at Harold, then deliberately stretched and yawned, looking like any other ordinary dog.

She gave herself a shake and quickly trotted to the back of the conference room and disappeared behind a curtained alcove. Pierce was not at all surprised when Peridan, holding a coffee pot, sauntered back to the same alcove, disappeared, and then reappeared in about the time it would take for a hurried conversation with a Narnian Hound. Peridan made a circuit of the room, pouring coffee and chatting with the Bankers, and finally stopping to speak to Harold just as Jina returned from the closet and resumed her place at Morgan's feet.

Pierce glanced at his Director, and saw that he had also followed the whole choreographed dance.

"It is a different sort of subtlety," Linch said out of the corner of his mouth, while studying his ledger of notes. "And they do prefer keeping us ignorant."

Harold rejoined them and took his seat; Pierce thought he saw some sort of signal though, at this point, Jina could simply be reading Harold's mind and intentions.

Birds fluttering at the top of the room in the skylights drew his attention. Before this shut in, before _Harold of Abdon_, before talking rats, ravens, and dogs, before sheltering Narnians, Pierce would have thought nothing of it. After a lean Winter, birds had always flown through the Conference Room skylights looking for food scraps. Harold glanced up at the birds without seeming to do so, and then two fingers casually brushed his brow, as if pushing hair away.

Were these birds looking for food? Or were they listening to and understanding every word spoken? Was this the advance guard? Was Narnia coming?

Director Sterns hammered the gavel a final time, and Morgan began her assault about the House of Stanleh.

* * *

Chapter 11, Conclave, Part 2  
Followed by Chapter 12, Comings and Goings

I have picked up some new readers, so thank you and welcome and please introduce yourselves, if you are so inclined. Anonymous posting is enabled here and on my Livejournal.


	11. Chapter 11 Conclave, Part 2

**Harold and Morgan: Not a Romance**  
**Chapter 11, Conclave, Part 2**

**In which there are gatecrashers, rule-breakers, and other miscreants.  
**

* * *

Morgan was usually a very poor judge of how much information her audience needed. His sister would famously err on the side of over-inclusion, with long, dull, fact-filled presentations delivered completely from memory.

Here, however, such care was warranted and necessary for Morgan was making a serious charge. The Zalindreh Building and Works Society was bringing in far more money than was conventional for an entity of its size and purpose. The huge sums had come from many sources, including especially the pyramid scheme that had ruined so many Terebinthian investors. He and Maeve had spent weeks sorting through that mess and the principal reason they could not repay defrauded investors was because the money had been channeled through the Building and Works Society and then directed to Calormene armsmakers controlled by powerful Tarkaans who backed Prince Namavar. No privateer they had hired would go looking to reclaim stolen money from hungry Calormene war lords and their suppliers. It was not good for one's health and longevity.

There was another unsavoury connection they had whispered about, within Linch and with Meryl. The Linch Director believed that some predecessor of this same faction, with the Stanleh Director's financing, had been responsible for Lord Bar's embezzlement in Archenland and the disappearance of Prince Cor. Archenland was Linch's client; Director Meryl was the cousin of King Lune's dead wife. Linch and Meryl's concern over the Zalindreh Building and Works Society was both professional and personal.

Now, in her report, Morgan told the latest chapter in that long and ugly story. Slowly, a piece at a time, she built her case, circulating each page of her careful review to the Conclave. As the damning picture became clear, Pierce closely watched the Directors and ADs who would vote. There was no doubt as to Linch; the scheme was highly dangerous for Archenland and, if Narnia became a client, Narnia as well. The Meryl was personally affected, voted reliably (and often unthinkingly) as her Linch brother did, and Alan was capable of no independent thought at all. He would vote as his Director instructed.

It was remarkable how, during Morgan's presentation, Alan could affect a look of perfect comprehension and attentiveness and yet understand barely a word in five.

Sterns was a harder guess. The Sterns Director would likely follow Stanleh; he was not as reliable as Meryl was to Linch, but the two were cut from the same cloth. Additionally, Sterns was trying to curry favor with Stanleh in order to bring Seth into his House in a venture with Dara Sterns – or so Constance reported. The Sterns AD, on the other hand, was unpredictable and very independent. The question, Pierce thought, would be if she had recently quarreled with her Director husband over smelly slippers or ink smears on the rugs.

As for Stanleh House, this was their Director's account and so the ADs would likely support him. Though, they were expected to exercise independent judgment under the Code even if at the expense of House unity – it was why they were ADs, after all. Both Seth and Maeve were listening intently to Morgan's report. Seth was taking notes; Maeve was not.

Among the non-voting Bankers and clerks in the audience, a few were nodding off. Most were paying close attention, recognizing the stakes, the explosive personalities, the sophistication of the scheme and that, in the years to come, this was a case study they would be forced to learn.

Linch eventually made a "finish it" gesture to Morgan – which she would have ignored except that Jina reinforced it with a nudge to Morgan's leg. Morgan stuttered to a stop.

"In sum, the Linch review shows the Zalindreh Building and Works Society is an illegitimate business. Only a small part of its monies fund building projects; the remainder is sent on to the list of entities in Addendum 23, all of whom are known to be hostile and aggressive to the Northern countries of Archenland and Narnia. Linch recommends rejection of this account."

Morgan's recommendation was very significant – she was saying that the account was so flawed, it could only be rejected outright, not even corrected. And without the Conclave's approval, the Building and Works Society would not be able to attract funds and other entities would not do business with it. If Conclave followed Morgan, the Society's very existence was imperiled. From the viewpoint of Narnia and Archenland, this was the ideal outcome.

When Morgan failed to do so, the Linch added, "Are there any questions?"

There was some shuffling, murmuring, and the scraping of benches and chairs. By right and rule, it was time for the Stanleh to defend his account. After a long, painful pause, the Stanleh Director rose from his seat, leaning heavily on Seth's arm and using a chair as a prop.

"Thank you, AD Morgan, for that scintillating analysis," the Stanleh wheezed. While there was a slight ripple of humour, the muttering of disapproval in the audience was stronger. Morgan's analysis might have been over-long, but the subject matter and the allegations she leveled merited the detail. The hypocrisy was obvious – if she had stinted on the review, Stanleh would have certainly condemned her for that as well.

Morgan met her critic with a cool and level stare. While she had always been mocked for how she presented, no one ever could fault the presentation itself and she was very confident of her conclusions. "Since I'm attacking your account, Sir, are you saying I should have been less complete? Or, maybe I made an error?"

There were a few discreet laughs hidden as coughs. Of course there was no error. This was Morgan's work. The Stanleh was the only Banker in the room who could have created this fiendishly complex scheme, and Morgan was the only Banker in the room who could have taken it apart. Though… Harold had assisted Morgan with the account. The full implications of Harold's abilities and his Linch training really were disturbing to consider going forward.

The Stanleh coughed a little; Seth helped him wipe the spittle away.

"No, no, _my dear Morgan_," the Stanleh replied. There was another disapproving murmur – _my dear _was not an appropriate title for an AD. "In fact, I was appreciating the brilliance of my work for the Building and Works Society as you reviewed it. I consider it one of my greatest constructs."

"Get to the point, Stanleh!" the Linch Director said. "Either defend it, or we vote."

"My question," Stanleh said, ignoring the interruption, "is why does it matter?"

Morgan frowned and Pierce felt a stab of anxiety for her. Harold moved slightly in his seat and glanced up at the silent, roosting crows. Jina shifted on the floor and drew closer to Morgan.

"What do you mean, _why does it matter_? Explain yourself," Morgan replied curtly. She paused, "_My_ d_ear_. _Sir._"

With her remonstrance, the Bankers in the audience tittered. The Linch Director was not so restrained. "If you need a tutorial in correct titles, _my dear Stanleh_, Linch would be happy to instruct."

Stanleh's smile was thin and nasty. "I look forward to the day when my House could learn anything useful from yours, Linch." He pulled away from Seth's arm and gripped the chair to again address Morgan. "You conceded the account accurately reflects the operations of the Zalindreh Building and Works Society, correct?"

"I did not concede it," Morgan countered. "The numbers are what they are. It is what they are doing with the surplusage that is the problem."

"No, my girl," the Stanleh Director said. "It is not _the problem_. It is not even _a problem_. Under the Code, what the Building and Works Society does with its monies is _not our business_."

"Of course it is," Morgan fired back.

The Stanleh Director shook his head. "No, it is not. We are not priests or judges, we…" His remaining response was lost in a fit of coughing. He waved to Seth with a gasp.

"What my Director means," Seth continued smoothly, "is that it is not our place to sit in judgment of our clients' choices or morals. So what if they _are_ funding a Northern conquest? Or, paying poppy farmers in the South to make drugs that turn people to addicts, or selling children into brothels, or anything else? Objectionable, perhaps, but not our business. All we are called upon to do is opine on whether at year end the records accurately reflect the state of their business. Here that is unquestionably the case. That is the end of the matter."

With Seth's overlong explanation, Morgan opened and closed her mouth, working to muster the response. Pierce was nearly on his feet to argue the point but the Linch Director put a hand on his shoulder. "Wait," he whispered, surveying the room. Politically, Pierce knew it was more powerful if someone other than another Linch defended the conclusion.

There was a long, silent pause, and Pierce could see the moment slipping away. Surely Meryl would understand and join? But Meryl did not. Apparently her brother had not put the words in her mouth.

To his shock, Maeve rose. "I disagree, AD Seth. It is _not_ the end of the matter."

"Sit down, girl!" the Stanleh spat.

"Maeve…" Seth began, more gently.

Maeve shrugged them both off and turned to face the audience of Bankers. "I concur with AD Morgan. At the very least, the analysis needs to account for the fact that our client's conduct is risky and is likely not sustainable."

Morgan was nodding vigorously and found a voice for her thoughts. "Director Stanleh's accounting presumes all will stay the same for the Society going forward. That is not a reasonable assumption."

"Precisely," Maeve said, glancing back at Morgan then returning her attention to the Bankers.

"Yes, this is all interesting and fanciful," Seth said with a touch of condescending weariness that irked Pierce. "The point remains that we are not to judge what our clients do with their monies. That is their concern, not ours."

"And I am telling you that it is our concern, and we are doing our clients a grave disservice in letting them think otherwise," Maeve insisted. "You met the High King of Narnia in Tashbaan. We all did." Maeve's eyes swept the room and her voice rose, stronger. "Does anyone really believe Narnia will stand for the Bankers of their own protectorate actively aiding in funding their enemies?"

"They will if they do not know about it," the Sterns Director said.

"Of course Narnia knows," Constance Meryl added, boldly and loudly from her seat. "Only a fool thinks otherwise."

"Silence!" Sterns barked at her. "Only ADs and Directors may speak now!"

Morgan's look of disgusted annoyance was far louder than her words, "Of course Narnia knows. Only a fool thinks otherwise." Her pointedly verbatim repetition of Constance's comment drew snickers at Sterns' expense.

"And if Linch had not gone to Narnia, they never would have!" Stanleh wheezed. "You brought Narnia down on top of us, AD Morgan!"

Maeve shook her head. "You are wrong, Sir. AD Morgan went to Narnia _because_ we were all seeing an increasing sophistication in their work product. Rumors of Narnia interest in Code revisions date from the same time. AD Morgan had the wit to see it first. She followed the interest that was already there."

"It's all speculation!" Sterns snapped. "There's been no word of Narnia through Florian. We pay him to keep them away."

"And the Narnians will remove Florian by summer," Meryl said.

"So useful how my sister will parrot what she is told," the Linch murmured in Pierce's ear.

"I believe we need to consider that Narnia is already here and has been for months," Maeve said slowly. She waited until the surprise quieted and she had again captured the Conclave's attention. "The Grand Vizier warned me. _Ware the black birds that come from the North._ Which, I dismissed as fanciful, until I saw black birds on every House roof this autumn." She paused, gathering the room with her voice, and playing the audience with a public poise that Morgan so conspicuously lacked. Maeve pointed upward. "And the black birds have returned. They are here, at Conclave."

The Bankers all looked up at the silent birds perched in the skylights. There were nervous twitters, but from the Bankers below, not the birds above.

"Spying! On us?" Sterns cried. "Would they dare!"

"Certainly Narnia would dare," Maeve replied. "From their point of view, we are theirs."

"And you would tell any client to do the same," Morgan added. "_You have_. We all have."

"And yet Linch continues to claim it is not involved with Narnia in violation of the Code?" Stanleh said, full of offensive and snide insinuation.

"We represent Archenland, not Narnia," Pierce said quickly to respond before Morgan attempted to do so. "Their interests are often aligned, as here in the Building and Works sham that funds Calormene aggression."

"King Lune once tried to interfere in a very similar money scheme," the Linch Director spat out, not bothering to conceal his contempt at the Stanleh Director. "He paid the price for that meddling in the blood of his wife and son."

"Oh _that_ old accusation _again_," Stanleh snapped. "I weary of hearing it, Linch. Regardless, even your self-righteous conceit cannot ignore that Lune's fear has kept the North out of our business for years. Narnia needs a similar lesson, that is all."

From the Stanleh Director, such a statement was not an idle threat. Pierce glanced at Harold and marveled at how impassive the man was. These could not be easy things to hear, yet he stayed silent.

Stanleh shifted back to address the Bankers as a whole. He clutched on to Seth's arm and his words were venomous. "After we settle this vote, I will ask the Conclave to consider how _this girl_ has turned so timid and soft-headed. She seems to have both lost her judgment and become judgmental of moral matters that are not our House's concern."

The insult, from her own Director, was too base to ignore. Pierce was surging forward, furious, but again, his father held him back and Harold with him. "He is baiting you," the Director whispered. "You saying anything will make it worse."

He was pulled unceremoniously back to the bench as Harold muttered, "Trust her to answer the charge!"

Pierce jerked his arm free. "And you would let Morgan stand there and suffer this insult?"

Harold's face hardened to flint, but instead of responding he tilted his head toward the drama playing out on the dais. Morgan was leaning arrogantly against the table with her notes, arms crossed over her chest, and her glare at the Stanleh was one of utter contempt. Maeve was not cowed, but stiff with anger.

"Do they look like they need our help?" Harold murmured.

In a flash of insight, Pierce wondered if others saw what he did in that moment – that maybe it _was_ better that these two women were usually pitted against one another because seeing them momentarily united against the Stanleh Director made him pity the man.

"My title is _AD_, _Sir_, granted by this Body." Maeve was speaking to her Director, but her audience was the greater Conclave. "Your approach has served the client well. However, the circumstances are changing and so too must our advice. My position is based upon the facts as AD Morgan has cogently presented them and Narnia's developing understanding, which will only increase. Personal attacks and threats will not change it."

"Move for vote," Linch injected quickly.

"Seconded," Meryl put in.

Sterns scowled, for surely he could see the direction the tide was flowing. With the motion made and seconded, they now had to vote.

"Those in favor of accepting the accounting of the Zalindreh Building and Works Society?" Sterns asked.

Only Stanleh, Sterns, and Seth raised their hands. With the Directors counting as two votes and the ADs as one, they pulled only five votes, and it was over.

The Sterns AD must have been very angry with her husband, for she voted with Linch, Meryl and Maeve to reject the accounting, nine votes in all.

"The Zalindreh Building and Works Society is rejected," Sterns said, and the bang of the gavel made it final. Chatter erupted in the audience; Pierce thought many were looking up to the great domed ceiling of the conference room and the silent black birds overhead. Over the din of excited conversation, Sterns shouted, "This concludes our accounts for the year. We will adjourn for a break and then move to administrative matters."

The Bankers began milling about, gossiping in earnest. The servers began circulating through the crowd with coffee and food. Pierce thought the Bankers would all make a point of either avoiding Morgan and Maeve, or seeking them out. Conclave had not been this exciting in years.

He intended to join Maeve and Morgan on the dais. Harold stopped him, with a firm hand on the arm and a shake of his head. "Give them a moment."

Pierce was becoming very irritated with others telling him what he should and should not do regarding Maeve. Worse still, he was now getting orders from Harold, who should certainly not be advising regarding the conduct of personal relationships. He held his temper though, for he could see, in this narrow instance, what Harold meant. Maeve was congratulating Morgan. The women were shaking hands and while they were both obviously not comfortable, it was the most cordial he had seen them in 15 years.

"What did the Stanleh Director mean?" Harold asked as the Linch joined them. "I thought Conclave voted Maeve as successor last year. How difficult is it to designate Seth instead?"

"Worrisome for you, isn't it?" the Director said.

Harold nodded.

"Stanleh could, with Sterns seconding, move to add it to the agenda," Linch said. He tilted his head to where the two men were closely conferring in the front row of chairs. "That might be what they are doing now."

Pierce would let his Director explain to Harold the convoluted procedures for changing House succession plans. He bent down to get Morgan's satchel from under her seat and was startled to feel fur on his fingertips.

"Sorry," he murmured, peeking under the chair's skirt.

"Not a problem, Pierce," Willa replied quietly, her voice drowned out by the noise around them. "If you drop some food on the floor that would be splendid. We're getting hungry under here."

"I will put something in our bags, and shove them back under the seat when we resume." He carefully lowered the chair skirt again to conceal the Rats' hideaway. He wondered what the Bankers would say if they knew there were very large rats under their chairs. Belatedly, Pierce realized he had just committed to carrying salted fish and bread in his work satchel and letting a rat eat out of it. Maybe he would put Morgan's papers in his bag and the food in hers. Being with Narnians had changed his perspective on things in so many ways.

Lugging their satchels, he moved toward the dais, and relieved Peridan of a tray of coffees on the way.

"Pierce! Can I help you with all that?"

Seth squeezed through the benches and the milling Bankers, juggling his own satchel and Maeve's bag. Pierce was irritated with Seth's lecturing superiority, but not so much as he would spurn the help. "If you could take Morgan's case?" Then he would be able to hold on to the tray of coffee and not spill until Morgan came near it.

"Where is Harold when we need him?" Seth said, relieving him of the added burden. "Shouldn't he be carrying our things?"

It was really better to say nothing at all to _that_ comment.

They had to dodge around another bench and Dara Sterns, who Pierce brushed aside with a polite "_Excuse me_." Dara could be such a clingy pest. Seth got along with her well enough, but then again, he probably had to. A lifetime with Dara Sterns was a very grim prospect.

"Is the Stanleh going to move to try to replace Maeve?" Pierce asked.

Seth adjusted the bags and shoved a stool aside with his foot so they could move around it. "I don't know. She might be able to repair the breach. But, he is not well and this is a very important account for him. As he said, it's one of his proudest constructs."

_And, I would not want to explain to those entities on Addendum 23 that they just lost their funding. _This was a dying man's last act of spite and some of those inconvenienced warlords might decide to hasten it.

"I thought we would conclude today," Pierce said with a sigh. If the Stanleh reopened his succession plan, they would be here for days.

He and Seth climbed up the dais and pushed through the Meryl Bankers who were paying their compliments. The crowd had forced Morgan and Maeve to stand closer together and they both were looking very awkward about it.

"Really well done, both of you," Pierce said, setting the tray down on the table so he could hug Morgan. He could feel the tension in her narrow shoulders. "A brilliant presentation."

"Thanks," Morgan said, letting out a deep breath.

Seth was embracing his sister as well, though with greater affection than Maeve was returning. "I am sorry, Maeve."

"We can and will disagree, Seth," Maeve said stiffly. "But don't be condescending when we do."

"Your point is taken," Seth said, sounding more gracious and looking contrite.

In the middle of Conclave and with a succession battle looming, Pierce settled for shaking Maeve's hand, but he warmly covered her hands with his own. "Thank you, Maeve. You were a wonderful advocate."

She reciprocated with a gentle squeeze and a nod.

Seth handed Morgan a coffee cup from the tray. "Morgan, you made an excellent case and your analysis of the account was flawless. I hope I did not offend you."

"Of course not," Morgan replied. "You are just wrong and I think less of your judgment, but you did not offend me."

With Morgan's blunt ways reasserting themselves, Pierce managed to avoid laughing: Maeve did not and laughed heartily. He sighed inwardly as Morgan scowled. Maeve _was_ mocking her, even if Morgan's tactless comments warranted it. Achieving any sustained, comfortable exchange between them would take more than accord over a single account review.

Morgan lifted her cup to take a sip and promptly spilled it. The hot coffee splattered on to the floor, the table, and Jina who was very much underfoot.

"Sorry!" Morgan cried, as Jina jumped up with a startled yelp. "I'm sorry, Jina!" Morgan's second apology was very heartfelt. "Did I hurt you?"

Pierce wearily took the cup back from her; Harold might not be carrying bags anymore, but he did keep Morgan from spilling. Jina briefly put her nose to Morgan's hand then moved to a corner to shake herself off.

Maeve snatched a linen from the tray and began mopping up and Seth moved Morgan's papers and the bags out of the way. "That was my fault, Morgan. I am sorry."

It was a mess of soggy cloth, papers, bags, and such, but they managed to get it all sorted. Pierce handed Morgan's now half-full cup back to her.

Maeve looked anxiously over at her scowling Director, who was still huddled with Sterns. She worried the damp linen between her hands. "He intends to move for my removal."

"He is very angry, as would be expected," Seth said.

Pierce did not think Seth sounded especially sympathetic.

"You did as you should, Maeve. ADs aren't supposed to automatically agree to everything the Director wants," Morgan said.

_Alan Meryl notwithstanding. _

"ADs have duties under the Code," Pierce said, daring to put an encouraging hand on Maeve's shoulder. "And it protects us when we exercise them. That independence is the mark of a good AD and Director."

She smiled at that, and so gratefully, Morgan rolled her eyes. Morgan's sarcasm was not fair at all given that he had had to endure _her_ lover all shut in, and especially since moving into Harold's little, and barely used, room.

"Maybe you should try speaking with him," Seth suggested softly. "He is thinking of his legacy, Maeve, and he does not want his last Conclave to end like this."

"But, he's also thinking I'm not the right person to carry on that legacy."

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Seth replied. He picked up a cup from the tray. "Here, anticipate him with a token; he always likes that."

"I will save him the effort of hollering for it," Maeve said, taking the cup.

Seth kissed her cheek and it seemed the coolness between them thawed. "And, hopefully, you shall keep him from adding House succession to the administrative session agenda and we can all go home today."

"I shall do my very best," Maeve replied with a smile. She squared her shoulders and Pierce was heartened to see her assertiveness returning as she stepped off the dais and approached her skeletal Director, peaceful offering in hand.

Morgan began shuffling her coffee-stained notes of the Building and Works Society on the table and stuffing them into her satchel, using more force than was necessary.

"Morgan?" Pierce asked quietly. He moved over to help her collect the papers.

"Sorry, I still don't like her, Pierce, but Maeve shouldn't be punished for…"

And then everything exploded.

Jina erupted in ferocious shouts and barks. "Willa! Stop him!"

Grey streaks burst out from under the chairs, charged over and around benches and people, and threw themselves at Maeve and Director Stanleh.

Crows swooped down from their ceiling roosts, cawing and screaming in alarm, "Back! Get back!" The birds dove at him and Morgan, beating their wings in their faces, scratching them with their claws, and driving them backwards. He threw his arms up, felt Morgan grab him by the sleeve, and together they lurched off the dais.

There were screams; people leaping onto chairs to avoid the rats and diving under them to avoid the crows.

"Hold! Stand down!"

The order was so loud, so compelling, Pierce froze where he was, and lowered his arms. Stunned, outraged shock gripped the room. Jina's growls were so fierce, they raised the hair on his neck.

_Harold… that was Harold's order, wasn't it? Where had Harold come from?_ Had he been that green blur that had raced by so fast Pierce only now remembered glimpsing it? Harold was on the dais, holding a long, shining knife.

The knife was pointed straight at Seth Stanleh.

"What is this rabble? Animals don't belong here!" Director Sterns shouted. "You there! You madman! You dare draw a knife?" His voice hiked higher to a shriek. "At Conclave! You don't belong up there!"

"Yes, I so dare," Harold responded coolly, his eyes and the knife never leaving Seth. "A pack of Dogs, a Mischief of Rats, a Hoard of Bankers. Do you know what the collective word is for Crows?"

Seth took a nervous step backward, staring at the knife. He shook his head.

"A Murder."

Jina growled again, lower and deeper. There were ominous snaps of crow beaks overhead.

Through the throng, Pierce could now see that the Rats had circled around Director Stanleh and Maeve. The Stanleh was staring at the cup in his hand Maeve had just given him; Willa was holding on to his sleeve with her paws. Keme and Teddy had the Stanleh's robe in their teeth. _Oh five gods, not Maeve?_

"I told you not to drink it, Director," Willa said. The Rats pulled urgently on the man's arm.

"Lady Hound?"

Pierce was not certain what Harold was asking Jina, but Jina understood. Her hair was standing straight up on her back, her head low and her teeth barred. She took a menacing step forward and Seth stumbled off the dais and backed into the wall, cornered by Dog and Knife.

"There is poison is in his pocket," Jina said. "It is on his hands and sleeves. It is also in the cup of Director Stanleh. He was trying to put the poison in Maeve's satchel. He was going to kill Director Stanleh here and accuse Maeve of the crime."

"What? That is absurd!" Seth stammered. How could such shock possibly be feigned? The Bankers were all clustering around the dais, some trying to stand on benches to see what was happening. Their angry, outraged exclamations echoed Seth's denial.

The Stanleh Director swayed on his feet; Maeve was by his side to steady him and Peridan stepped forward and guided the man down to a bench. Father shoved his way through the circling Bankers and wrapped a protective arm around Morgan. Pierce was pulled into the same embrace and Father dragged them both further away as if they could be injured by implication.

"And, Lady Hound, do you believe it is the same poison that was on the rahat sent to Linch House on Two Hearts Day?" There was nothing of the silent, deferential clerk in this man.

"I do."

Pierce glanced at Maeve. She looked profoundly ill; the Rats were whispering to her and she was prying the cup from her grandfather's gnarled, shaking hands.

"By the testimony of this Hound, I accuse you, Seth Stanleh, of the crime of attempted murder."

"This is shameful!" Seth thundered. "How dare you threaten me!" He stood straighter, adopting the arrogant Banker pose they had all been taught. It looked ridiculous in this setting. "You overstep your place, Harold of Abdon! Director Linch, correct your clerk…"

"Silence!" Harold bellowed, pointing the knife straight and sure. Long after the memory of the precise words blurred, Pierce would always recall that the long knife did not waver in the hand that wielded it. Harold stepped forward and disappeared.

"I am Edmund, King of Narnia, known as the Just, Knight of the Order of the Stone Table, Lord of Cair Paravel, Duke of the Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March, he who broke the Wand of the Usurper, Jadis. _We_ are your King, Sovereign and Liege over Narnia and these Islands. By the power of Our office, We charge you with the grievous crime of attempted murder."

"The King? Of Narnia!" Seth's voice dripped with scorn. "This is ridiculous. You have no right to mock me. I'm accused by a dog?"

"We will not bandy Our authority with you, accused." The King's tone was chillingly stern over the growls of the Hound. "We hold these titles by prescription, right, and conquest, by the will of Aslan, King of all, first and last. Should you doubt Our Authority, you may appeal your cause to Our Sister, her Grace, Queen Susan the Gentle, who even now leads the Narnian fleet anchoring in the harbour below."

The shock gave way to doubting murmurs.

"A fleet? Here? Don't be ridiculous, _clerk_!" Director Sterns spoke with scorn of what everyone else was thinking. "No one may come ashore until we say so! We are the authority here, not Narnia." Sterns gestured imperiously to the Director. "Linch, this play for power and spectacle goes too far, even for you."

"It does go too far, Sterns," Linch retorted and Pierce did not think he had ever heard his father so angry. "Run him through, your Majesty, and be done with it. This man tried to murder my children."

"Peridan!" King Edmund called, eyes never leaving Seth. "Open the shutters."

The mutters of protest rose louder and angrier in the room. The windows were not to be opened yet, not until there was a motion duly made and seconded, on vote of the Directors and ADs to formally end the Conclave for the year. Here was a seeming clerk blatantly usurping authority only the Conclave had. It violated the Code. It violated the Rules. It was simply _not done_.

Did they not see it as Pierce now did? This man, the Just of Narnia, was the supreme Law of their Islands. It was exactly as Constance had said. The vaunted Bankers' Code and House Rules did not matter a whit in the presence of one who was the Law and Law onto himself.

"As you command, King Edmund."

The tension spiked even higher with this acknowledgement by another of the higher authority in the room. Peridan sauntered over to the big, center window. No one made a move to stop him; a collective paralysis set it when beholding such confident disobedience. Bankers obeyed rules and they were flummoxed by one who so obviously did not. The well oiled latch flipped up easily. With Peridan's shove, the heavy shutters swung slowly open, then, as the wind caught them, they blew open with a loud bang.

A distant din wafted in on the breeze. It started low and as the ear adjusted, became clear – jubilant horns, ringing bells, and the deep, resonant booming of a triumphantly pounded drum.

The vision outside the Bankers' stone tower rolled out before them. There was a collective gasp as something flew by the window, so huge it blocked bright sun and blue sky. For a moment, Pierce recoiled, instinctively fearing the Dragon of Lone Island legend come to life. But, this vision had glossy chestnut feathers, a glinting gold collar, and the beat of wings was so strong it sent a burst of cool air into the room.

The Harbour sparkling blue-green below was crowded with ships, and such ships! These were not the merchant ships of the Islands and Calormen. There was a great galleon in the fore, taking the choicest moorage in the bay. Silver shields hung from her sides and from her mast waved a white banner. The wind caught it and a gold lion unfurled bright and shining in the early spring sun.

Smaller ships, smart and brightly painted, were anchored around the galleon, and all flew the same white and gold banners. The harbour was crowded with dinghies and rowboats, all pulling into the docks, all heedless of the Bankers' Code, and overwhelming the Harbourmasters frantically and futilely trying to wave them back. But, there was to be no stemming of this fearful tide. The boats were filled with such creatures, Pierce could not name them and had never seen the like. They were short and tall and hairy and hooved and horned, and walked on two legs and four.

There was a roar and a blur of golden and black launched from the deck of one of the ships. It landed in the water with an enormous splash and began swimming purposefully toward shore. Then were more splashes – he saw dogs and then horses – no they had arms, and were half human, half horse – leap joyfully from the decks into the water.

Peridan grasped a roll of cloth at the window ledge, unnoticed until now. He shook it out, and fastened it to the flagpole. It was not the Banker pennants of red, yellow, blue and green that were supposed to be the only flags to fly from this window. Peridan hung a Narnian banner, with the gold Lion on scarlet, a scale, a black bird, and a broken wand.

"Narnia comes, King Edmund," Peridan said, with satisfaction. There was another roar, closer, and noisy calls and shouts from the sky and in the harbour below. "Including what looks to be a very large, very eager and very, very impatient Tiger. Your personal guard, I believe, coming in search of you?"

_A tiger?_ Pierce tore his eyes from the spectacle out the window and returned his attention to the standoff. Confronted with the enormity of what was on their very shores, Seth was cowering in the corner. The King stood before him, confident, calm, and with knife poised.

"It is over. Will you stand down, Seth?" the King asked, now speaking very gently. "For the sake of your family and friends whom you have wronged? You are under my protection and such mercy as is in my power to give, you shall have."

"Mercy!" Seth spat out with disgust. "From Barbarians? A rabble of animals, savages, and children?"

Jina growled again and there was a rustle overhead of snapping disapproval from the Murder of crows perched on the cornices and in the windows.

"Peace, Friends," the King commanded, though his eyes never left the one accused. "Yes, Seth, mercy, even more than you deserve."

Pierce could not believe what he heard, though it sounded so sincere, he had to believe it so because the Just King spoke it. _Mercy?_ Seth, his lifelong friend, had tried to murder him and Morgan both and when that failed, had tried to kill his grandfather and blame his sister for the crime. Pierce agreed with his father. _Kill him now._

A powerful downdraught from mighty wings blew through, stirring his hair. There were thuds and clatters and three balls of brown fur rolled into the room, dropped through the open windows of the tower by huge flying creatures. The Bankers surged back to the walls, away from the windows and dais, shrieking in fear. Clips of hooves, flashes of metal, and the three things leaped up, holding bright, sharp swords. _Tash's hell, what were they?_ They looked like deadly, murderous _goats_?

"King Edmund!" one of the creatures cried.

The three goats advanced with swords raised and the Bankers all scrambled away.

"Hold!" the King barked. "Well met, Friends, but be easy. There is no threat to me here."

There was another roar, much closer, and it rattled the room.

"Jalur may disagree, your Majesty," a sword-wielding goat replied.

The King lowered the knife pointed at Seth. Pierce could feel a surge of readiness in the lethal goats. Here was a King's guard, sworn to protect him.

"Open the door," a deep, growling voice said from behind the locked door. "Or I will eat you after we hack it to pieces."

Those who had been jostling to escape out the door, now backed away from it. The Bankers were moving from stunned, paralyzed shock to frightened panic. One of their own was a murderer, a King was revealed, the hallowed Counting House was filled with talking animals and goats with swords, feathered dragons flew out the window, and a terrifying voice blocked the only way out.

The tension was broken by Morgan's laugh. She shrugged out from Father's protective arm and moved toward the door. "No need for that, Jalur," she called. "Your King is busy but well."

"Hello, Banker Morgan," said the snarling voice on the other side of the door. "If someone does not let me in immediately, I shall become irritable."

The goats snickered and Pierce heard one of them mutter, "Wouldn't want that now." Even the King twitched a smile, though his eyes never left Seth cringing in the corner.

For all the gems of Tashbaan, Pierce would not have opened the door to admit whatever was growling on the other side.

With another laugh, Morgan through open the bolt and …

_Tash's hell_

An enormous, wet, bristling tiger brushed right by Morgan and stalked into the room. There were more screams and shouts and one woman from Stanleh fainted dead away. The tiger ignored all the hubbub and sauntered up to King Edmund. The King put a hand on the great beast's head.

"We are well met, my Guard."

"And I am glad to see you, my King." The tiger stared at Seth. "The Crows said this man has poison and tried to murder someone?"

"He is so accused," King Edmund replied, hand still on the tiger's head.

"Shall I kill him and then we can be done with it and go home?"

"No, Friend, you may not. You know we have a process for judging wrongs and meting punishment."

"It would be quicker if I ate him or we let the General toss him on to the rocks in the harbour."

"Peace, Jalur!" the King said sharply. "I will not hear it."

The tiger blew out an aggravated, resigned breath and lashed his tail. "You there, Banker," the tiger said to Seth. "Either stand and fight, and die, or give yourself to the mercy of your Just King. You waste our time."

Seth thrust his hand into his pocket. The Bankers gasped and cringed. Embarrassingly, the Narnians did not flinch. The tiger flicked a bored tail.

"I could take this," Seth cried, holding up a stoppered vial. "End it, save them all the humiliation." He wiped a running nose on his sleeve. _He is weeping_. Pierce felt some pity amidst the horror.

Maeve choked on a sob and clung to her stricken grandfather.

The Just King took a step toward Seth and held out both his hands, palms upraised. "Even those who betray the ones they most love may mend." King Edmund drew closer. "And those betrayed can forgive. I believe in redemption, Seth. Will you let me show you?"

There was the silence of a collectively held breath; strange with the jubilant noise outside amidst the terrible drama of the conference room. King Edmund reached for the vial clutched in Seth's fist. With the firm touch, Seth sagged and all his poise and panic and charm drained away; he released the poison into his King's hands.

King Edmund stepped back and with his gesture, the goats bounded forward.

"I assume the _Splendour_ _Hyaline_ is here?" the King asked.

"Among others," the Tiger responded, interposing himself between King Edmund and Seth as the goats surrounded him.

"Take him to the ship's brig," the King said. "See to his needs, and a guard."

"Put a Noll Watch on him," Jina said as the goats marched Seth away; Bankers parting before them. "He is a danger to himself. Add a Hound, and a Crow or Rat, in addition to guard."

"We shall see to it, my King, Lady Hound," the goat replied.

There was a rustling and the sound of short words exchanged overhead. Two of the roosting crows flew out the door after Seth and the goats.

_Goats._ Pierce knew there must be some other name for the creatures. He found himself stopping an inappropriate giggle that he knew was the stress. It was one of those same goat things who had sold him the bottle of Lightning in Zalindreh.

They had been frozen for what seemed a day but was probably only a few moments. And now everything seemed to happen much, much faster. He was exhausted. Maeve was weeping and holding her grandfather's hand and the Stanleh was staring blankly ahead, head and body shaking in horrible denial. The Stanleh Bankers huddled together, clinging to one another like children, frightened and horrified. He saw Constance pulling Alan Meryl and her Director toward King Edmund, who was exchanging words with a tiger – _speaking to a tiger_ – who was rubbing his head against the King so hard, white and orange fur was sticking to the Linch green shirt. His father – _father_, when did he become father and not Director? His bored-looking father towered over the hysterical Director Sterns, who was ranting about breaches of the Code.

"You may take your concerns to his Majesty, the King Edmund," his father finally said when Sterns paused for a breath. "I look forward to hearing his response."

Constance had been right. Tash could take the Rules and the Houses and their precious Code all to hell. This was the end and it was about time.

Pierce went to where he belonged and where he was needed, at Maeve Stanleh's side. He sat at the bench and put an arm around her. Maeve turned her back on her grandfather and wrapped her arms around his neck, crying in earnest now.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, over and over. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

Vaguely Pierce was aware of others moving about, of crying and argument, Peridan giving orders, Morgan talking to Jina and the rats, and people coming forward to greet King Edmund.

_To hell with them all._

He held her close, let her cry, and found he was blinking back tears himself. He was going to buy a bottle of Lightning from one of the goats, he was going to get from their library that book of Calormene poetry with all the pictures of naked couples, he and Maeve were going to go somewhere no one could find them, with nothing but the bottle and the book, and they weren't coming back for a ten-day.

The moment of peace they all needed did not come. Instead, a flurry of birds swooped and dove overhead, huge wings again beat passed the windows, and a rising tide of noise billowed from the direction of the doors. With a great fanfare of drums and horns, a score or more of Narnians thronged into the room – horse men and horse women, dogs, dwarfs, more of the goats with swords, great cats and wolves, and creatures covered in bark and leaves.

The Narnians were cheering and laughing and talking and greeting the Bankers with bows and handshakes and swaying limbs and lolling tongues and wagging tails. Pierce felt completely overwhelmed and held more tightly to Maeve. He felt like he should protect her, but he was powerless here amidst the might, confidence and number of Narnians. All they might do was bolster one other which was, he supposed, no small thing.

Maeve pulled her head out his shoulder to stare. "Pierce! What are they wearing? They weren't dressed like that in Tashbaan!"

Apart from the bizarre collection of beings which strained their imagination and vocabulary, Maeve was right – what the Narnians were wearing _very_ deliberately drew a Banker's eye. The Narnians were all adorned in a mix-match of red, yellow, green and blue. There was too much of it to be anything but intentional. The colours of the Banking Houses were in their gem-studded silver and gold ornaments, in their broaches, rings, bracelets, shirts, scarves, collars, and breastplates. The wealth was conspicuously abundant, as fine as any he had ever seen in the wealthiest of Tarkaan palaces, and especially conspicuous because dogs and trees were wearing it.

A barrel-chested horse man clopped into the doorway. Silks in red and blue draped over his flanks, and he wore a stunning, emerald-studded breastplate. The beating drum stilled and, with it, the Narnians' merry chatter.

"All hail and welcome Her Highness, Queen Susan the Gentle of Narnia, Lady of Cair Paravel, Hornblower, Bow-arm, Countess of the Glasswater, Ambassador and Sister of Peter the Magnificent, High King of Narnia and Emperor of these Islands!"

A dwarf and a tree _(tree?) _strode into the room, one carrying a banner very like the one Peridan had unfurled out the window, though this one had, in addition to the gold lion on red, blazons of a horn, a bow and arrow, and a castle tower. The other banner, larger, was like the sails on the ships, with a golden lion on white. Dangling beneath the lion banner hung the thin pennants of the Houses, in green, yellow, blue, and red.

"Narnia is gold on red." Maeve whispered. "They've changed it to white."

"To avoid taking sides," Pierce muttered. The gold lion on white was, literally and figuratively, over them all.

There was a horn fanfare and the Queen herself strode into the room and they beheld the Queen Susan and her message.

Pierce paid no attention to women's fashion at all, but this was politics in the language of the Lone Islands. The Queen was wearing a long skirt and train, elaborately dyed in swirling reds, yellows, blues, and greens, that then blended to orange, purple, and turquoise. The rainbow of colour faded and disappeared to pure white and gold at the top of her gown. She wore a tall, elaborate crown and a curtain of sparkling jewels in her hair. Walking with the Queen was a great, somber wolf who wore a rich silver collar studded with emerald, ruby, sapphire, and citrine.

The message of the flags was repeated in the Queen's own dress. _The golden lion reigns over blue, green, red and yellow. Accept our authority, or disappear._

As one body, the Narnians all went down to a bended knee, if they had knees, or a deep obedient bow, leaving the Bankers awkwardly standing and uncertain. The Queen stood regally, silently, surrounded by her respectful, obeisant subjects. She arched an eyebrow that indicated loudly an expectation not yet met. Pierce scrambled up, Maeve with him, but it was Constance Meryl who reacted first, pushing forward through the crowd of frozen Bankers.

Constance might have usurped prerogative, but at least she knew what to do. "Your Majesty, most Royal Guard," Constance said, dropping to a deep curtsey at the feet of the Queen. "Welcome to Conclave."

The Queen held out her hand and Constance kissed the golden ring.

"Narnia thanks you, Banker of Meryl. You may rise." As Constance gracefully rose, the Bankers began bobbing and teetering like drunken Galman winemakers.

"I don't know how to curtsey!" Maeve whispered, panicked. "I'll fall over!"

"We'll just bow," Pierce decided, taking her firmly by the waist. "And if we both fall over, we'll ask _Harold_ to plead our case."

"_Harold_," Maeve muttered. "You owe me a long explanation about that, Pierce."

They managed bows as King Edmund strode forward and kissed the Queen. "You are most welcome here, my Sister. Your timing, as always, is impeccable."

The Queen Susan embraced her brother in return. She then stepped away from the King to look him over critically and Pierce sensed her formidable disapproval as she plucked at his Linch green sleeve.

Whatever King Edmund the Just, clerk and bag carrier of the House of Linch, said in reply to his sister was drowned out by Narnian cheers.

* * *

The final Lone Island chapter to follow, Chapter 12, Comings and Goings  
In which farewells are made, gifts exchanges, and plots are revealed

* * *

There are certain scenes scattered throughout the stories that were the reason I built a story around them: Mary and Asim at night in the Oxford train station; the wall of lilies and water; Susan and Tebbitt at the reflecting pool; Walker-Smythe's confrontation with Susan; Some are scenes still to come, at a pond, in a pub, under a tree, in a drawing room, and a ballroom, and others. The scene of Narnia arriving into Narrowhaven, the averted poisoning, Edmund's declarations of his titles, and the line, "By the testimony of this Hound," have been in my head for a very, very long time. When it finally came time, I found myself unable to meet my personal expectation –in part undoubtedly because these are highly visual scenes and visuals, well, are not my strength.

I owe another two review responses (thank you!) and I've not heard from a few folks yet about the last chapter. But, I wanted to get this up as it all so related. If you are so inclined, I'd love to hear from you.

I didn't really mean for this to become theorizing on the morality of economic embargoes and trade sanctions to thwart political enemies. Yet, here we are.

So, we wrap up the Lone Islands in the next chapter and then it's back to Narnia and tears and angst.

Once this whole Lone Islands arc is complete in the next chapter, I'll post in my Livejournal some additional thoughts and links on the inspirations, worldbuilding, and visuals. I've had readers share graciously share their own visuals and will post that as well.


	12. Chapter 12 Comings and Goings

**Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance**  
**Chapter 12, Comings and Goings**

**In which gifts are given, inconstancy revealed, Harold is an ass' donkey and we find out what Morgan thinks about all this**

_(Ware! Really long chapter ahead!)_

* * *

When you present a Lone Island Banker with a difficult problem, know this.  
From the shining Sterns, you shall hear the answer you desire.  
From the loyal Linch, you shall hear the ugly truth.  
From the brilliant Stanleh, you shall hear of a solution that is very risky and even more clever.  
From the pleasing Meryl, the answer you hear makes you forget the question.  
From _Colloquy Between A Grand Vizier And His Prince_, adapted in _A Raven's Instructions To A Narnian Monarch_, by Sallowpad, Chief of the Narnian Murder

* * *

There wasn't anything for Morgan to do. Anything she could do. She was sure that she'd be able to organize Harold's trunk better, make everything fit just so, but she'd have to fold it all, and Morgan had never been very good at the folding.

There were distractions in fabrics, like that silver thread that Crows could see. She saw it too, in the perfect rows of weave, and she could count the vertical threads and the horizontal threads and imagine how they would have been set up on a loom. Four by four by four by four, over and over.

But folding the fabric she'd have to leave that to someone else. "If you fold them, I could put things in your trunk," she said, but Harold had smiled at her and said he had a way he needed to do it, with those things needed for a sea voyage on top and the rest on the bottom and she wouldn't know those things.

_But I do know those things. I remember._ _You were very neat when we sailed here, so many months ago. I always remember, Harold. Your kit was in the right hand corner, on top of a nightshirt you never wear. The soft shoes you sometimes wear on board for traction and protection from splinters during calm days go on the left, with the soles against the side so they don't dirty the two shirts. You'll wear your tall boots when you walk to the dock and sail away._

The trunk had a false bottom. Morgan could see that. It sounded differently, hollow-ish and the trunk wasn't as deep as it should be – smaller on the inside than it was on the outside, so there were secret compartments.

Morgan felt like that's how she was, broken into so many pieces and compartments. Because she was so broken, she had always been good at puzzles and patterns. She knew how to make each piece fit just so, in trunks and spreadsheets and bricks in buildings, she could see the threads no one but the Crows could see, count all the beans in a jar, and knew when things didn't add up. She just never could make her own pieces fit.

She heard her name and looked up from the weave on the coverlet of the bed that had been for Harold but that he had hardly slept in. It was in a pattern called wheatweave and there were looms on Galma that specialized in it. All neat rows, back and forth, up and down, she could count them to one hundred and to one thousand just by looking at them. Oh, look at that, the weaver had an uneven row there … Morgan put a hash mark on her private tally. She knew exactly how many days she and Harold had spent together in a row.

"Yes, Harold? Did you say something?"

"I did." He sat on the edge of the bed and Morgan felt the fog lift from her mind. That happened whenever he was close. It was strange because Harold could be very distracting, especially when he read to her, or wrote things, or when they were working on illustrations in her book.

"There are three things, no, four, to discuss."

She felt a little jump within that little, tiny, hard space where her heart was. But, then she saw an interesting pattern in the wood of the wall just over Harold's shoulder.

Harold took her hand and a deep breath.

"At Conclave, the Stanleh Director and Seth both argued that it was not the place of the Bankers to judge how your accounts conducted their business. Maeve responded that running the Building and Works Society in that manner was not sustainable because Narnia would not permit Bankers to aid in funding her enemies. Which is, of course, true. However…"

His hold on her hand tightened. She knew he was trying to search her face and look into her eyes. On the wall over his shoulder, the knot of wood was very beautiful, with rich colours and sworls like a flower. She'd never noticed it before.

"Morgan, I need to know if you had other concerns besides what you knew was the certainty of Narnian intervention."

Something hard and sharp twisted inside her. She knew what he was asking, and why. He was still holding her hands so Morgan had to rub her eyes on her shoulder to avoid the moisture that suddenly sprang there. Why did it always hurt so very, very much when he did this? Still. Didn't he know how many days they had been together? Why did he not understand? Why did he always need the reassurance?

"Morgan?"

"Your brother and Lucy asked me the same question. Do you remember?"

"About the Building and Works Society? I do not think so. We never discussed it at home."

_Home. His home._

"No! Of course we didn't discuss the Society," she snapped, the hurt making her lose patience even faster. "Your brother wanted to know why I had exposed the Zalindreh pyramid even though the investors were warned they could lose their money. I had a dreadful fight with Pierce and the Director over it."

His brother and Lucy had both understood why she had done what she did, why she had defied the Code and her own House, and that had been months ago. Why didn't Harold understand now?

"Oh, of course," Harold admitted after thinking on it. "You said it was unfair, that it offended you, and that the investors could not understand what they were in for, even though the risk of loss was disclosed."

Morgan jutted out her chin but still felt her lip trembling. She nodded, a little and wished that Harold did not seem so very relieved. Why did he need to hear this? Why didn't he just _know_? "It was just wrong," she managed to say.

She had always been different, in so many ways, the extra piece that didn't quite fit in the Lone Islands or in the Code, the irritating pebble in the shoe, the squeaky hinge. Until Narnia, no one had understood this _thing_ within her, this _wretched thing_ she had had all her life, that made it impossible to ignore what was right there if you only looked hard enough and followed the money. Money wasn't just dead, lifeless coin. It came alive. It did things and some of those things were great and some were terrible and she could see _all_ of them.

She had to look again at the wall. It hurt too much otherwise. He had to ask, had to hear her say it, _again_, _and again and again._ _Trust but verify_. At first his prudence was sensible, admirable, and reaffirmed her opinion that Narnia was wise and cautious. Now, after so many days, when everyone else trusted her, it just hurt. And this was how he was saying good bye.

Harold was certainly making it easier to say good bye. She'd hardly seen him at all since the Narnians arrived. He had spent all his time with the Directors and Queen Susan and with Seth Stanleh. He had been talking with Seth for days. Seth had seen more of Harold than she had, and he was going with them back to Narnia. And she wasn't.

Maybe it was as the cat had said after all.

Harold put his hands up, into her hair, fingers to the back of her neck and kissed her forehead. "Thank you, Morgan. I wanted to believe you to be Narnian and Banker both."

It should have made her feel better. It didn't.

"I also want you to know that should you or Alan ever feel oppressed, in anyway, about your joint venture, tell me and we shall dissolve it instantly."

_Oh._

That was not what she wanted to hear, either. _Alan_. The knot of wood was beautiful, it swirled ever deeper. So pretty. Like Alan, in a way. She liked Alan. He was good at all the things she was not and Alan would never drag her through something like this. He didn't understand numbers, but he understood feelings and he didn't make her struggle to find words when it was so hard for her to say anything. He never asked her to prove things someone should know. They would build Meryl into something amazing and all the Archen work would flow to them and she would bring Narnia too and could sleep with Harold during Narnian summers – though if he kept talking like this, Morgan wasn't sure about that, either. She could at least continue to see Jalur and Jina and Sallowpad and Lucy and all the others who _wanted_ to see her, the ones who didn't make her say things that were so hard for her to say and that were obvious anyway.

And it would be that way until when? For how long? She didn't know. The cat in her dreams hadn't told her. _What came into this world can leave this world._ Alan and her homes in Meryl and Linch, and the native Narnians, they would always be there for her. She wasn't so sure about Harold. He certainly hadn't been with her since Conclave. He had been somewhere else – already back in Narnia, or with Seth.

The Director was right, as usual and again. Magic and divine caprice made for bad investment, whether financial or emotional. So, she tried not to get too invested in Harold. It hadn't worked very well. For her, anyway. Maybe that was why Harold wasn't so invested in her? Student surpassing teacher, probably. Bully for him.

"Promise me, Morgan," Harold said.

She nodded. "I will. I do." Though, she wasn't sure what she was promising. That was the problem with Harold – another of the problems – Harold always asked her to promise to the wrong things. He did not understand the Linch loyalty the way Alan did and the way the Talking Birds and Beasts did, because if Harold did understand, he would not always be asking for her to promise things and say things that she had already given. Didn't he see how it was good for them all that she would control Meryl, and Pierce would control Linch, and Constance would take control of Stanleh until Maeve was trained properly? Did he not see that this was good for Narnia? It was stability and prosperity and they would follow the money into Calormen and cut it off. Because there was this very not-Banker thing in her that saw the bad things that money could be used for, she could remake the Code and the Houses into something more Narnian. Especially because Harold was going to ask her to re-write the Code on behalf of Narnia so Morgan could do it just so and Harold and his brother and sister would approve it.

"Third, Narnia shall commission Linch to rewrite the Code."

Morgan nodded.

His hand rose to her cheeks and brushed away the hair. "I trust you to see it right, AD Morgan. Make it sensible. Make it fair, for Narnia, for our subjects. No one here understands the Narnian values as you do. You will do that? For us?"

_Our subjects? For us? Who is us? Me and you? _That feeling jumped again, and then sank as she understood. _Us_ and _Our_ meant Narnia, _his_ subjects, _his_ brother and sisters. _His_ home. She was just one of the subjects, like everyone else in the Lone Islands. What a terrible investment.

"I will," she remembered to say. And because it probably would fit, she added, "Thank you." He should know all this already but Harold had said he needed to hear it, too. So, she said it.

Her eyes closed as his hands touched her face. She thought she had gotten all her tears out last night, while he slept. Was the fact that she was sad something he wanted to know? Morgan didn't think so. What she felt was her problem alone that no one else was responsible for. It wasn't his fault she had gotten too invested. Harold wanted to go home. He was not invested. She understood that.

How long for the Code revisions?" Harold asked, very quietly.

"You're the client," Morgan replied automatically. "But, Summers are quiet here. I can draft a hoard of juniors to work on the basics. I'll co-manage the project with Pierce."

"Please involve Constance and Maeve as well, and find a competent, honest Sterns representative?"

"The work is for Narnia, Harold. If you want us to, we will."

"We do." His fingers combed through her loose hair. "You will need to be here to do it?"

"Of course," she responded. "Everyone is here. The resources to do it right are here. We will budget to have it completed before shut-in."

"Yes," Harold said. His hands fell from her face and landed between them and his voice sounded hollow like his empty trunk with the false bottom. "That seems sensible."

Morgan opened her eyes and saw the swirling knot of wood on the wall. She was feeling lost again, in the fog that happened when people talked to her and expected something other than numbers and advice about numbers and income and bricks and how to count lines of threads and the patterns they made, or how many beans were in the jar and what all the beans would do if you spilled the jar. Did she miss something? Was there something she was supposed to have said? Was Harold expecting her to say something but not bothering to tell her what it was until he got angry with her for not saying it? Maybe it was that Harold needed prompting on the things he needed to discuss with her?

"And the fourth thing?" she asked, trying to help.

"Since you will now officially be engaged in work for Narnia, I thought you should have a symbol of our House to wear."

_Whose House? Our house, together? No, he means his House, of Narnia_. There is no _us_. No _our_.

From his pocket, Harold withdrew a bit of linen, loose weave, such as you would get in Lower Town. It held something small. Harold put it into her hands.

It was heavy. Morgan unwrapped the package, cradling it in her lap so she did not drop it. She unfolded the cloth to reveal a broach.

It was gold, in the shape of a Lion's head.

"Oh!" She stared at it, not knowing what to say, but remembering, "Thank you, Harold."

"It is supposed to be Aslan, of course, the great Lion of Narnia." Harold softly. He gently touched the gold pin. "I was hoping you would wear it."

"It's beautiful," she replied, automatically.

"Turn it over," Harold said, now sounding so very eager. He flipped the broach over himself and traced his finger tip over the edge. "Can you see it? I had the goldsmith add it."

She squinted, for it was very small, but it was also unmistakable. "A tree?" She looked up, so wanting to see him. All she saw was the knot of wood. "You added a Linch tree to your Lion?"

"Yes. May I?" Harold lifted up the broach. He wanted her to wear it.

This was important to him. She could hear the reverence in his voice. Morgan was afraid of the broach with a golden lion because she thought this might be the same cat who had warned her. _What came into this world can leave this world._ If the words were true, Morgan had made a terrible investment.

"Please, yes," Morgan said instead. "Please pin it for me?"

The broach felt very heavy at her throat, like the lumps that were in her throat and stomach.

She could not wear the broach for the sake of his lion. She would wear it for him, for Harold and for Narnia, to show the Linch loyalty she had given to him and his country, even if he didn't believe it. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. They had been together for over a year as counted in Narnia time; the hash marks for each day were clear and sharp in her head. One, two, three… fifty, fifty-one… four hundred and thirty-two, four hundred and thirty-three... And now he was leaving.

* * *

At his age, it was foolish, though certainly understandable. All of Narrowhaven desired either _to be_ her or _be with_ her. Women were copying her gowns and hair, everyone was ornamenting their pets, and, with tame wolves in short supply, gray dogs were a fashion essential. White, gold, black, silver, purple, and orange in swirls and sprays were the popular colours. The men were now dressing as the Queen had dressed her brother. Peridan set the new Narnian style for the men of Narrowhaven.

The Queen Susan was a very compelling woman. Linch did not recall ever feeling such affinity before. It was all ridiculous, of course. He was over twenty years her senior and her royal brother had been in bed with his adult daughter for over a year.

He held out an office chair for the Queen and then sat across from her as her Guard settled at her side. Linch did not need to be asked and poured her tea, a little milk, even less sugar, just as he had learned she preferred it.

"Thank you, Director," she said, taking the cup.

"And you, Royal Guard, do you require anything?" he asked. Queen Susan and Lambert were in very close accord. This authoritative, confident Guard was entitled to and expected the same respect afforded Queen Susan. Lambert, in turn, deferred to his Queen alone.

"I am well, Director, but thank you both for asking and for anticipating my Queen's need of a restorative."

"That is quite enough, my Guard!" Queen Susan replied, though spoken without sting.

"All your meetings complete? To use as Narnian colloquialism, all feathers and fur smoothed?" Linch asked, pouring himself a cup. He still preferred a sailor's brew, strong and hot, with nothing added. Given the amount of tea and coffee they consumed, he would have gone to fat a long time ago if he used sugar in the quantities that Pierce did. "All Narnian accommodation assured? Your representatives ensconced in the Governor's House?"

"Yes, yes, yes, and yes," Queen Susan replied. Her white gown rustled against the carpet and he suspected she was removing her slippers and stretching her legs. It was very flattering that she felt at ease here and he would make no notice of it. "We have made a deposit to the Narnian account here to cover our subjects' expenses for the duration of their stay."

"And with similar deposits made to the other Houses, Narnia may spread her wealth and earn goodwill."

"I am not sure how content the Houses will be when my subjects begin spending down the accounts like Galman winemakers as we have instructed, but I presume there will be other compensations to them."

Linch nodded. The idea had been the Queen Susan's and that was why so many Narnians had "invaded" the Lone Islands at Conclave. He had helped her refine and execute the plan – to increase Narnian importance in the Lone Island, they needed Narnians _in_ the Lone Islands, creating wealth, spending wealth, and insisting upon Narnian product. They would flood the local economy, create demand, generate supply, and ideally and eventually, begin to displace some of the Calormene influence.

"How are Mr. Tumnus and _Lord_ Peridan getting on in the Governor's House?" he asked.

"Explosively. Truly, I see the necessity of giving Peridan a title, but I do wish we could have found something more fitting than _Lord_."

"Jester?" Linch offered. "Conjurer? Swindler?"

She smiled over the rim of her cup. "Usually it is my sister who gathers strays, not Edmund. Still, I see the sense of it."

"Lord Peridan does provide a needed perspective. He is very knowledgeable of the Lone Islands but with an outsider's view of the Bankers, provides Human cunning, and is loyal to Narnia."

"Mr. Tumnus and the other Narnians will see he remains loyal," Lambert said. "And sober."

From the flat tone, Linch assumed that the Wolf did not like Peridan. From the way her mouth twitched, Queen Susan had reached, and possibly shared, the same conclusion.

"Also, your Majesty, Teddy asked me today if Keme might bear their pups here, at Linch. I told him we would be honoured to host them."

"And so you become more Narnian every day, Director, if your cooks will tolerate a family of Rats in the kitchens."

"Narnian Rats, but of course," he said, raising his cup in salute.

"I thank you, Director. It is pleasing that we begin to see Narnians establishing themselves here. I hope this heralds a new, closer relationship and a greater Narnian presence."

He would mind neither a closer relationship nor a greater Narnian presence in his life, so long as it was hers. Emboldened by her confidences, Linch posed what she, but not King Edmund, might answer. "May I ask a question, Queen Susan?"

"You may ask, Director."

Even with the passage of time and his children safe, it took effort to keep his voice steady. His wrath over the betrayal was still too fresh. "It seems the King Edmund has taken a significant interest in Seth Stanleh. Is this how Narnia normally conducts her adjudications? Or is there something unique about this matter? The crimes are proven. Why do you not just execute him? "

The Queen carefully set her cup down on the table. Linch had the sense it was a stalling gesture, reinforced when Lambert spoke first. The Wolf was giving his Queen the opportunity to choose her words.

"Narnia does not kill criminals, Director, except in fair combat."

"No? So what do you do? Lock them in a dungeon for the rest of their lives?" He very much wished that Seth had tried to fight his way out of Conclave. Linch would have been glad to see the vermin dead at King Edmund's hand, or, following up on the Tiger's excellent suggestions, eaten or dashed on to the rocks of Narrowhaven Harbour.

Queen Susan cleared her throat. "These are excellent questions, Director, and to enlighten you in full is not possible in the short time that remains for us here. Briefly, and as I already explained to Maeve Stanleh, wherever possible we attempt rehabilitation through closely supervised work, usually in the wrongdoer's own community. King Edmund and I will consult with the High King and the Queen Lucy to fashion an appropriate plan. I think it likely that Seth Stanleh will be detailed under guard to a Dwarf work party or put to sea on a Narnian vessel for several years. Perhaps he will be able to return here, in time."

"I do not wish to see him here, ever again, your Majesty."

"You need not ever forget, Director." She leaned forward, touched his hands, and he felt a kinship even stronger than before. The Queen Susan spoke with both conviction and understanding. "By Aslan's grace, I do believe that redemption and forgiveness are possible."

He would not argue the point and her implicit charge, for it diverted from the second part of his query. "And the King Edmund's so personal involvement?"

"It is his province, Director. Should you wish for more information, Mr. Tumnus is a Narnian scholar and could enlighten you further on our recent judicial history at your and his leisure."

Linch doubted he would hear what he wished from Mr. Tumnus, even though the Faun was reputedly among the most loyal of the Narnian retainers, dating to the Queen Lucy's first arrival in Narnia and the suffering he endured in his Queen's cause at the hands of the Witch. Rather, something brooding seemed to have come over the King Edmund. Pierce had observed that the moment he declared himself at Conclave, Harold of Abdon had disappeared.

Yet, Linch felt there was something more at work that was not wholly explained by the King Edmund assuming his rightful monarchical place. Morgan had known him so in Narnia and he had himself seen the King unveiled after Two Hearts Day. Morgan had said nothing – indeed it would have been shocking if she had said anything – but she was troubled and Jina, Willa, and Sallowpad with her. Linch could not reconcile the men – the willing deference of Harold of Abdon, the mercy of the Just King, and now this cool distance of King Edmund.

He wanted to probe the matter further, but the Queen spoke with an air of finality that did not encourage exploration of the topic and she picked up her teacup. "I have become very fond of the Lone Island brews, particularly should I ever wish to be awake for a ten-day. Perhaps the ships' cooks traveling with us might learn the secrets? I know my brother the High King would be most grateful especially."

With that artful shift in the conversation, Linch did what any gentleman and Banker must do and followed the lead of his Queen and client. He refilled her cup.

"I understand that for coffee the trick is in the roasting, my Queen."

* * *

Harold finished his packing and ignored her suggestions. She had hoped he might stay a little while. Since Conclave, he'd only been at Linch for official things and he'd spent his nights on the ship and talking with Seth, even though he was going to be taking Seth back to Narnia.

But, two Satyrs came to haul his trunk away, and took Harold with them and so that was that. She said good bye to Jalur and the Tiger gave her a whiskered kiss.

Morgan had had to explain to Pierce what the difference was between Satyrs and Fauns and that it wasn't polite to call either a "goat" even if Satyrs were very skilled in climbing on rocks and in trees and had big horns. Pierce had really read all the wrong sorts of books when they had been growing up. He'd never looked at _Pliny's Animalia and Botanica_. Morgan had memorized that book years before she'd ever gone to Narnia, but she memorized just about everything. Pierce had been looking for that Calormene book of erotic poetry, probably for when he and Maeve went away once the Narnians left. Morgan hadn't decided if she would give it to him. _To use with_ _Maeve? Really._

There would be a formal good-bye at the docks but Morgan would be an AD of Linch, Banker to the House of Narnia, and Harold would be King Edmund and there wouldn't be any tears or kissing or romantic, last minute changes of plans. With Alan, yes, such things were possible. Even Pierce, of all people, over _Maeve_.

But not her. Not Harold. Queen Susan wouldn't permit it and King Edmund wouldn't like it. And the Lone Islanders shouldn't see their Monarch making such a favourite of a single Banking House. The Code was changing – she'd take care of that - but it wasn't going to happen today.

She sat on the bed and stared at the swirling knot on the wall. It was like a little whirlpool, but of wood, not water or wind. The lion broach felt heavy and awkward at her throat, a weight she did not want but would bear.

"Morgan?"

Jina's voice penetrated the fog of the wood, the whorl, Harold, horns, the top to bottom and inside audit of Stanleh, the RFPs coming in for the Calormene silver mine – slaving would be an issue there and they would need an onsite audit to confirm its absence – and the invitation to Narnia to send a trade delegation to Telmar – Queen Susan should go, she thought, and Sallowpad, definitely some Hounds and a stiff guard, and some Rats in the advance for spying. Morgan calculated the days to Narnia by sea and the days to Telmar overland.

"Yes, Jina?"

The Hound came into the bedroom and gently nudged the door so that it was just ajar and then she could leave again without asking for help. House doors and locks weren't designed for those who didn't have hands.

"You are sad," Jina said.

"Yes," Morgan replied.

"I had hoped you would return with us, Morgan."

"I…" She wanted to say something foolish – that she had wanted to return to Narnia with them. That she had wanted Harold to ask her to come back. He was such a bad investment, she might have said no, but it would have been nice to have been asked.

"I have work to do," Morgan said instead. "Important work for Narnia."

"But it must be done here?"

"Yes, Jina. Probably."

"You should have told him," Jina said. She knew. She always knew. She heard when Morgan cried at night in the dark and when they argued. She heard when they made love and when they didn't do anything but sit together with their ankles twined together. She knew what Morgan didn't say but felt, so deeply and so strongly the words never made it out of her head and small, hard little heart.

Morgan slid off the bed and slumped down on to the floor. She had cried last night, while Harold slept. She would not cry now.

Jina moved closer and rested her head in Morgan's lap. Morgan rubbed the inside of Jina's ears. Jina said this was an appropriate gesture of affection between Dogs. Since Morgan had hands, she would stroke Jina's ears, though Jina had told her that licking was acceptable as well. It was nice of her to permit it, but Morgan wasn't going to lick the inside of Jina's ears.

"It hurts more than I thought it would," Morgan admitted. "More than it should." _What came into this world can leave this world._

Harold was a bad investment. A very bad investment. Never invest in anything that eats. Never invest in anything you could fall in love with. Narnia was a good investment if Morgan could secure her future. She could do that, with Meryl and with Linch –so that even if what came into this world left it, Narnia would continue, prosperous and strong. She wanted that for the Narnians. They should not be alone, the way she felt now. She would be there for them and would make it right for them.

"It hurts me, too, Morgan," Jina said. "You are important to me and to the other Narnians. Even if King Edmund does not say what he should, I have my own say in this, and Sallowpad, and Willa, and we want you to come back to Narnia." Jina paused and when she spoke again her voice sounded harsh. "And bother King Edmund."

"It's better this way, Jina. Really." _Only invest in what you can walk away from._ _Never fall in love with an investment._ Harold had learned that lesson very well. When had she stumbled?

The door creaked and Willa nosed her way in, pushing the door open wide. There was the familiar rustle of wings and Sallowpad fluttered in behind the Rat and landed awkwardly on a chair.

"So, you are staying?" Sallowpad asked with a fluff of feathers that meant he was annoyed. "You are not coming back with us?"

"No," Morgan replied. "I have work to do for all of you, for Narnia, and it should be done here."

_And Harold will go back to be King and I'll be their Banker._ Really, it was better this way. Narnia needed royal consorts and heirs. They needed a Banker, too, but she could help them find Linch-approved consorts. There wasn't much a Banker could do about helping them with heirs – except free Jina to do her work for them.

Morgan lifted her chin. She was terrible at so many things, but she was very, very good at being a Banker and was proud of her titles. She was one of the very best in generations. She would do right by Narnia.

"But you will come back." Jina's statement wasn't a question.

"You must," Sallowpad said. "As Chief of the Narnian Murder, you must report to me on the Code and the investigations of Stanleh."

His croaking, rude order made her feel warm and loved and valued in a way that Harold had not. She felt tears and quickly brushed them away. Morgan nodded. "Very well, Chief. If you demand it, I will come back."

"I do," Sallowpad said curtly.

Willa had carried something into the bedroom in her mouth. She spit it out into Morgan's lap and Jina nosed it toward her hand. It was wrapped in linen, just as the lion broach had been.

"We have a gift for you," Willa said, stretching her jaws and sitting back on her haunches. "We'd talked about it before, but Chief here was able to get it done."

It was small like the broach but much lighter. Morgan carefully unwrapped the little bundle and caught her breath.

Jina's tail thumped against the floor. "You like it then?"

"It is beautiful." Morgan didn't even stick herself as she pinned the carefully painted, wooden broach on to her sleeve so they could all admire it. Willa leaned forward, resting a paw on Morgan's knee and Sallowpad hopped over to the bed for a closer look.

"You are one of the Murder, Banker Morgan," Sallowpad said, studying the pin. "We want you to wear the black Bird."

Morgan ran a finger over the wooden badge. It had three tiny, intricate paintings. "And the Hound?"

Jina rubbed her head on Morgan's shoulder. "For your loyalty, on behalf of the Palace Pack, I claim you as one of ours, Morgan."

Willa cocked her head to look at it. "We had some disagreement about the final blazon. I thought a tree should be on there, because of Linch and Narnia, and how allergic you are, but then we had to decide what kind of tree."

"And the Otters got involved," Sallowpad snapped.

"They made terrible threats," Willa said, sounding very huffy. "So, we let the Otters have their say."

Morgan looked more closely and saw the tree had little orange fruits.

"The painter made it an orange tree," Willa said. "For Narnia and Linch both."

She couldn't stop it. With her friends, she didn't need to. Morgan wrapped her arms around Jina, Willa climbed into her lap, and Sallowpad hopped to her shoulder to comb through her hair. She let the tears come.

* * *

Linch adjusted his cuff to assure it did not dip into tea dregs, aware that Queen Susan was watching.

"Director, I should confess that I did manage to speak to your tailor and have commissioned some of his very fine work."

"Amid all the demands of your schedule, I am still certain that it was time well spent." He was sorry he would probably not see the results. "Though, will I have to double his pay to assure he stays here?"

"Promise him a supply of Narnian dyes and Dwarf-made needles and pins, with my compliments." She paused then admitted, "Though should he wish to emigrate, I would welcome him at Cair Paravel."

"The latter is an offer I shall not communicate, your Majesty."

She laughed and Linch was glad she was leaving with the tide. The longer the Queen Susan remained, the more he wished she would stay. _Such foolishness._

"King Edmund comes," Lambert injected.

Linch quickly stood to admit the King and his Guard. He had a large office but it was surprising how cramped it became once a Tiger and a Wolf were in it. With the High King and his Cheetahs, he wondered at the size of the Narnian rooms.

King and Guard stalked into the room. While Jalur would retreat to a dark corner to observe silently, Lambert remained close to his Queen and would participate in discussion. Jalur only spoke if spoken to and even then, his responses were single syllables. He had not thought the Guard and Monarch relationship would be so very idiosyncratic.

The Queen turned in her seat and accepted a kiss from her brother. Linch had been sitting across from the Queen; the King commandeered the seat at the head and once he took his seat, Linch sat in the subordinate position the King had assigned him.

"All packed? Farewells made?" Queen Susan asked.

King Edmund nodded curtly. "The trunk is being loaded aboard even now. I understand that Seth declined the opportunity to say good bye to Maeve, which is unfortunate, but I could not move him. So, Captain Nanshe merely awaits our pleasure and the tide."

"And that is all, then?" the Queen asked. Her voice was so mild, there might be some disapproval lurking.

"It is."

Linch felt himself bristling. Again, the King concerned himself with the criminal and seemingly at the expense of those far more deserving of his time.

The King turned to him. "And so, Director, we come to our own end, for now. I thank you, personally and on behalf of Narnia, for your instruction and home these last months. We are very grateful for your courtesy and generosity."

_So, it was to be speeches? After all this? _He knew it was not his affair, but he did wonder if this was all his daughter had received.

"It has been instructive and rewarding for me as well, your Majesty." Linch had learned that King Edmund disliked the term _Sire_. "Linch is honoured to have hosted you and to have earned your confidence. We are most pleased to begin our formal representation of Narnia."

"As are we, Director," Queen Susan said providing the warmth her brother did not and leaving no doubt as to her sincerity.

As it was speeches, he owed one as well, and it was heartfelt. "I would be remiss, your Majesties, in failing to express my own deep thanks. By your actions and those of Lady Jina, the Rats, and Chief Sallowpad, you have saved the lives of my children. As a father, I thank you. Even without the formal relationship Narnia now has with my House, you would always have my loyalty and gratitude."

The Queen reached across the table and took her hands in his. Her touch was gentle but strong. "It is a task we wish had not been necessary, Director, but it was gladly done. You are most welcome."

If he had been alone with her, Linch might have lost his mind altogether and done something extremely foolish. Though, Lambert was certainly a toothsome deterrent. Linch was fortunately able to master himself and release the Queen.

"To that end," King Edmund began, "I have spoken to AD Morgan and have commissioned the House of Linch to review the Code and make recommendations for its revisions. I have instructed AD Morgan to involve the other Houses, specifically Constance Meryl, Maeve Stanleh, and a Sterns representative.

"Director, I approve of the independence of Marisol Sterns, the AD of that House," Queen Susan injected. "Please see that she is involved."

"Of course, your Majesties." He thought AD Marisol a bit of a shrew, and quickly corrected himself. Perhaps Narnian Shrews were kindly and pleasant.

King Edmund nodded at his sister. "I expect AD Morgan to do the bulk of the work, Director. She understands our goals and will see them accomplished in the Code to our satisfaction."

For Morgan's sake, Linch wished he could hear some softer sentiment colouring the King's order. He detected nothing but a brusque practicality. He had wished the King would see Morgan's worth as more than a soft toy to sate a man's pleasure. While glad to see this respect for his daughter's ability, it seemed to have come with a cool indifference to her as a person.

"I am gladdened to hear of your confidence in AD Morgan's judgment, King Edmund. As you well know, she is unmoved by expediency or politics and will honestly express her conclusions, even at cost to herself and at the expense of her own House."

"And that is why Narnia values her as an advisor, Director."

Linch felt his temper rising at this crass calculation. It had taken nearly losing his children to appreciate them as more than Bankers, ADs, and successors. Linch credited Narnia with teaching that gentle lesson and he felt an uncomfortable turning of the table for it seemed King Edmund now only saw Morgan's utility to his country. Odd to recall that on first meeting _Harold of Abdon_, he had been furious that that this upstart child lordling had the presumption to court the House of Linch.

"I am glad to hear that _Narnia_, at least, appreciates her value," Linch responded dryly. "It was on Morgan's advise that we began investing in Narnia nearly two years ago. It was she who challenged and exposed the Zalindreh plots which were so hostile to both Archenland and Narnia."

With a glance at her brother Linch could not decipher, Queen Susan graciously soothed his pique. "We are very grateful to your House and to AD Morgan especially for seeing our potential and being so zealous an advocate of our interests. Know too that King Lune has spoken very highly of AD Morgan, so she has the esteem of those that Narnia greatly admires. We are very pleased to bring our account to you alongside that of our ally."

This was very pleasant to hear. "Thank you, your Majesty. I shall convey _your_ compliments to AD Morgan." Had King Edmund said something similar to Morgan? Harold of Abdon would have, he thought.

The tower chimed the noon hour and it was time. They all rose, though they had to wait briefly for Queen Susan to settle herself. Linch suspected she was fumbling to put her slippers back on.

There was some complex order that they all understood. Jalur went first out the door, presumably as advance. Linch waited, holding the door, and he would follow the Monarchs and Lambert. At the door's threshold, Queen Susan turned about. "Director, if you will indulge me?"

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Madame."

She held out her hand. "I understand this is how we farewell in the Lone Islands?"

"It is." He shook her offered hand; he would save the bone crushing grip for King Edmund. "However, we must release hands," he said with a laugh as she continued to hold his in both of hers.

"But Director, _this_ is how we farewell in Narnia." To his utter surprise, the Queen leaned forward, stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "For your hosting of my brother, for the shelter of my very dear Narnian friends, and for the gifts of your daughter, friendship and wisdom, I thank you."

Linch managed to not rub his cheek in delighted amazement. They met Morgan and the other Narnians at the House's front door. The King and Queen said good bye to Keme in the hall, insisting that the Rat Doe not make the walk down the Silver Stair to the Harbour in her advanced state of pregnancy.

_Baby Rats. Living in his House._ It would be an adjustment for them all.

Willa bounded up and tugged on his robe. Linch knelt down and shook her paw.

"Good bye, Director. Watch my Rats, would you? And your long division?"

"I shall, Lady Willa. It has been an honour to have you correct my sums."

The Rat leaned in to whisper in his ear; her whiskers tickled. "I think my Queen fancies you a bit, Director."

"It is the Bankers' robes," he told her. "She admires my tailoring."

As the Linch retainers and Narnians followed the King and Queen out the front door, he looked for and saw Jina's distinctive brown, black, and white markings. He called her aside and let the crowd move beyond them.

Again, it was a change that had come over months but now he could see how sad Jina was. She, at least, regretted parting with Morgan. Linch knelt again. "Thank you, Lady Hound, for all your noble service. I owe you more than can ever be repaid."

She gently nosed his shoulder. "I like you so very much more now than I did at first, Director. You are a good Human. Do tell your daughter how much you love her."

"I shall, my Friend." From his pocket (of the robe that Queen Susan admired), he withdrew his gift. "It is difficult to give a mere object when I value you so much, but would you accept this token of my esteem and thanks?" He held it up for the Hound to inspect. "Would you do us the honour and wear a Linch tree?"

Jina's tail thwapped against her side. "Gladly, Director. Thank you."

She lowered her head and he slipped the fine, strong chain over her neck. From it dangled the gold and emerald tree of Linch. Jina rubbed her head on his hand and then trotted back through the crowd to Morgan, presumably to show off her new adornment. Their troop spilled out from Linch House into the street of Bankers' Alley and swelled in numbers as the other Bankers poured out of their Houses for the parade to Lower Town. The House of Stanleh was looking very glum. Somehow the Meryls ended up near the front of the procession.

It had the same feel as when the Narnians had arrived, though with a slight melancholy cast. Many of the Narnians were remaining behind and so there were many farewells – it was strange seeing how a Centaur said good bye to a Dwarf and how a Leopard farewelled a Gryphon.

The procession descended the Silver Stair – King and Queen and their Guards, followed by a throng of dull Humans and brilliant, varied Narnians. Bird and Gryphons wheeled and dove overhead. Sallowpad flapped by and croaked a good bye; Linch waved back.

It was all a blur of rainbow colours and noise, music and song, and a few short speeches in bright sunshine by a cool breeze and calm, blue water. To cheers and drums, the King stepped lightly into a waiting row boat at the dock; he took the hand of his sister and the Queen joined him. Wisely, they sat as the great Tiger and Wolf carefully joined their Monarchs, the boat sinking deep but still well buoyed.

Satyrs rowed them out to the great galleon anchored in the Harbour. Sensible, clothed folk stayed on the docks; others dove into the water to splash, play, and follow the King and Queen to their ship.

Pierce was standing with Maeve; Linch had to admit they made an intriguing, even attractive, couple. Linch would be joined with Stanleh, he supposed. He had wondered if King Edmund would demand the reneging of Morgan's venture with Alan – yet no mention had been made of it.

To get to Morgan, Linch had to push through a crowd of well-wishers all congratulating her for the Narnia account. She was wearing a golden lion badge now denoting her new status and it was much admired. Teddy was next to her, introducing himself to the Bankers with a poise he had not possessed in the Autumn when he arrived. Pending fatherhood agreed with the Rat Buck and he was looking very protective of Morgan, which was amusing except that Teddy obviously took the duty very seriously.

Eventually, the revelers thinned and moved on, back to Lower Town or to begin the climb again to the Bankers' Alley.

"Go on, Teddy," Morgan said with a shooing gesture. "Go give Keme the whole report! You know she is waiting for it!"

"If you insist, AD Morgan!" Teddy bounded off, darting in and among the Humans who only flinched a little at a large Rat in their midst.

Linch put an arm over Morgan's shoulders.

"How are you, my daughter?"

She tipped her head against his arm and sniffed. "Fine, Sir."

Arm in arm, they waved a final time, watching as the dinghy came alongside the ship. Ladders were thrown down and he could just make out the Queen beginning a climb up. He wondered if she removed her slippers to do so.

"That is a beautiful pin," he said. "Did King Edmund give it to you?"

"Yes, Sir."

Linch found his ire with the man softening with the extravagant, golden gift.

Gently, he steered his daughter back to the Silver Stair and home.

"Morgan, would you please do something for me?"

"Of course, Sir."

"Would you call me _father_?"

* * *

Jina stood at the stern of the _Splendour Hyaline _until the tide and the brisk breeze took them away. When the sound and then scents of Narrowhaven faded to nothing but salt and sea and the Narnian fleet sailing alongside, she slipped away, head down, to find a quiet place in the hold to mourn her loss.

She sensed twilight fall. The ship's speed increased, sailing ever further from the Lone Islands. She heard a Faun overhead playing a sad tune on this pipe that matched her mood perfectly. The smell of dinner drifted down into the darkening hold.

She scented King Edmund and Jalur overhead and heard the Tiger say, "Jina is below." King Edmund came down the steps.

"Jina? Are you here?"

He knew she was there. One could not hide among Narnians.

"I am over here, King Edmund," she forced herself to say. "Under the stair."

It was very dim in the hold and so King Edmund was moving by feel, shuffling in the dark. He was always in the dark, it seemed.

He squatted down next to her, holding on to the stair rail to steady himself as the ship rolled. "I did not see you at dinner."

She sighed. "I am not hungry."

"Are you well?"

And for the first time, Jina felt truly angry. Angry at her King, whom she loved. Angry at the situation. Angry at herself. And so she did what did not come at all naturally to a Talking Beast. She turned her head away, to avoid the eye contact that could betray and spoke a lie. "I am fine, King Edmund."

"Anxious to be home to Narnia?"

Only her self control kept the hair and growl from rising. She lied again, only the second time in her life. "Yes."

She did not want to be in her King's company. She was angry with him, disappointed in him. "Queen Susan calls you," she said. A third lie. She did not want this to become habit and wished he would go away so she did not have to say a fourth lie.

"She does? I did not hear her."

"You would not, King Edmund." _You never do._ Her King did not hear, did not see, and did not feel what had been right in front of him.

"Very true, Lady Hound. Again, my thanks for your service."

With her King away to seek his sister who had not summoned him, Jina crept to a darker corner and curled into a tight ball. She knew she would have to regain her spirit. Just, not now. She missed her Pack. She missed Morgan. She missed Morgan very much. She let the ship's gentle movement lull her into a fitful doze.

It was full dark when quiet paws and a familiar scent approached. "I'm over here, Willa," she called. The Rat would sense what her King had not.

The Rat scurried over carrying a small chunk of meat between her teeth. She dropped it at Jina's nose.

"I know you don't want to eat, but you must, Friend."

Jina was very touched that the Rat would offer her food. She nosed the meat and Willa shoved it into her mouth.

"Eat," Willa insisted. "Just a little."

Jina half-heartedly took it between her teeth. It was tasteless, but she gulped it down. It sat heavy and unsatisfying in her stomach.

"Where's Sallowpad?"

"Flying aloft," Willa said. The Rat's whiskers were drooping as well. They both felt their failure acutely. "He has had enough of King Edmund and wanted to get away himself."

"I should feel disloyal," Jina admitted. "Mostly I feel angry."

"Disappointed too," Willa said. The Rat leaned up next to her. It wasn't normal at all, not natural for either of them. But, the warmth and contact was very welcome. Jina curled herself around the Rat and nosed her friend's fur. Willa absently scratched Jina's leg.

"And I shall have to make a report of my failure to Dalia," Jina said after a time, with another sigh.

"Yes, well that Cat can just sod off," Willa said, sounding very angry herself. The Rat had picked up Lone Islands' slang. "It's easy for her to criticise sitting in the Tree. She's had no better luck with the High King or anyone else."

"I miss Morgan," Jina said. "Already. And I am just not sure that King Edmund does at all. I don't understand it."

"The King's been off since Conclave. I don't understand it, either. It was going so well." Willa snuggled in closer. "Even Sallowpad's worried now, if that helps. He was there, you know, when they first arrived in Narnia. He lived through Jadis. Morgan has been our best chance ever for an heir and she's no Princess either."

Jina ached. It hurt. She wanted to howl her mourning at the parting, but knew she could not. She edged closer to the Rat. "Do you think Aslan would do that to us, Willa? Again? Leave us alone with no Human to rule Narnia?"

"I think the Lion expects us to mostly solve our own problems," Willa said. "We always say he's not tame, and he really isn't. He's got other worlds, too. Other problems." She paused and Jina could sense Willa's fur bristling with anger.

"What?" she asked.

The Rat sighed. "Just that if you look at it that way, Morgan could have been Aslan's solution to the succession and King Edmund didn't see it."

And Jina knew that was where she would fall for the deepest censure from Dalia, the High King's former Guard. The Cheetah would have expected Jina to have done her duty to Narnia first, even if it meant betraying Morgan. Just as Dalia herself had done, in stepping aside as the High King's guard and forsaking her oath. But Dalia was foresworn and still the King had not found a willing mate. Dalia's sacrifice had been for nothing but that did not stop the Cheetah from pushing everyone else to the same.

"I couldn't lie to her," Jina said. "She did not want to whelp now." Morgan had made it so easy, too.

"And it might not have made any difference," Willa said listlessly, combing through Jina's hair the way Rats did. "Under those contracts they were always talking about, I think Linch would try to claim any of Morgan's pups as their own. I don't know if they would be Narnian, for all that King Edmund sired them."

"Try explaining that to Dalia and the others," Jina said bitterly.

"I'll help," Willa said stoutly and the Rat's support did more than anything to ease her heartache. "Sallowpad too. And Jalur, even if he wasn't there, he'll understand. He knows King Edmund better than anyone."

"Jalur even warned me. Mr. Hoberry, too. They said King Edmund required management. I didn't understand what they meant, and didn't want to overstep my role."

They both fell quiet, sensing footsteps overhead. Willa bent over herself and began grooming her tail.

"You've whelped?" Jina asked Willa.

Willa ran her teeth along her toes. "Twice a year, three years straight," the Rat said. "You've had, what, three litters?"

"Four," Jina said. "No fewer than five each time. Three still births."

"And Humans usually only have one at a time, two at most."

Willa knew these things. She had traveled a lot doing her work for the Mischief.

"So why all the fuss?" Jina asked. Really, it made no sense to her. Handling five or six, or eight pups couldn't be more difficult than one or two?

"Human pups stay with the mother longer," Willa said. "I think. From what I've seen, they grow very slowly. They nurse for months and months."

"Still, why wouldn't you want pups? At least one litter?" Jina asked. It was different, but it wasn't _that_ different. "At least for us? For Narnia?" Morgan would have, if she knew of their need and fear. Jina was sure of it. Her loyalty and love of Narnia were that great.

"I don't know. Jalur always says Humans make simple things really complicated, and King Edmund especially." Willa snuggled up next to her. "And Morgan did say she would come back. She has to; Sallowpad ordered it."

"I suppose," Jina said slowly.

There was flapping and scuttling and Sallowpad awkwardly flopped into the hold.

"Over here, Chief," Willa called.

The Raven hopped over to their corner. He, like Willa, brought a piece of meat in his beak. He tossed it to Jina and Willa jumped up to shove it between her lips.

"You have to eat, Lady Hound," Sallowpad ordered, settling his wings on his back.

Jina dutifully gulped it down, the second chunk no more appetizing than the first. Sallowpad wasn't being rude; this was just his way. Just as it was Morgan's way and the wave of sadness made her almost choke on the food.

"Feeling better after the flight, Chief?" Willa asked, settling again at Jina's side.

"No."

Willa understood the Raven as well as a Beast could understand a Bird and she was not put off at all but his manners which were, even for Sallowpad, quite impolite. He must be very angry, Jina realized.

"Anything more happening on deck?" Willa asked.

"For all that he is very glad to see him, Jalur is angry at the treatment of AD Morgan and has words for his King. I did not need to hear our King's excuses, again."

"So, you've heard this before, Chief?"

"I have told the King Edmund many times that while reading the minds and intent others is his gift, his great weakness is that he does not understand his heart or the hearts of others."

For a Bird, Jina thought Sallowpad very insightful. That was exactly right. King Edmund did not trust himself and so did not trust Morgan.

"He has his reasons," Sallowpad said vaguely, "but they grow very old."

"Did Lambert have anything to add?" the Rat asked.

"He did," Sallowpad replied, now sounding strangely smug. Jina perked her ears and felt Willa's own interest rise.

"And?" Willa prompted.

"We discussed the calendar. We must consult it when we return."

Jina felt Willa tense. Sallowpad began hopping from foot to foot. She brought her head up, studying the Rat and the Raven's sudden, shared excitement.

_Oh._

Sallowpad bobbed his head in agreement. "Lambert said that he, Jalur, and others have been keeping a count. They even tried to delay the voyage so they did not arrive too soon."

So, even back in Narnia, their fellow Beasts _had_ been helping.

Willa was counting on her paws, a fair imitation of what a Human would do. "Has it been two seasons?"

"Unclear," Sallowpad said, with a satisfied snap of his beak. "But if so, only one season more and the excuses will not matter at all."

* * *

It had taken some significant effort. Fortunately, the Queen Susan had traveled with two very skilled dressmakers who could quickly alter gowns to a Narnian fashion. The clever Dwarfess and Faun would not have been cooperative at all if the goal had been frivolous. However, they knew their Monarchs' wishes. Changing from Calormene and Banker dress to Narnian was not about style, but politics and power.

Constance Meryl had never set a fashion in her life. That, like so many other things, was changing.

She discussed her colour choice and the reasons for the request with the dressmakers. As if they had anticipated her (and they might very well have), the Dwarfess produced a bolt of fabric that was perfect and the Faun knew some clever tricks with dyes. In two days time, much of her clothing had turned Narnian, and purple – a bit of red, but with a very strong blue cast.

For Constance Meryl, Acting Director of the House of Stanleh, never had a shade been so becoming.

The worse day of her life had been when the idiot Gertrude (Constance refused to call her _Director_ or _the Meryl_ unless unavoidable) had decided that Morgan Linch or Maeve Stanleh would marry (and none of this joint venture nonsense – call it what it really was) Alan and take Constance's own House from her.

The second worse day of her life had been some ten years ago when the young Constance Meryl of Anvard Pass Keep learned she could not leave her dreary home to become maid to the young Queen Lucy of Narnia. The Kings and Queens had arrived barely a year earlier and the Queen and her court had been returning from Anvard to Cair Paravel. The Queen had caught a sniffle and Constance and her younger brothers were close to the Queen's own young age. So, the Keep had hosted her Royal Highness and her guards for four glorious days.

The little Queen, feeling poorly, had gone to bed early, and slept late, and so Constance had done her duty with the Narnians, and a pleasant and very informative duty it had been. She had talked long with a lovely She-Wolf named Briony, Wrasse, a very wise black Panther, a grumpy Bloodhound, Ibiza, a noble Centauress, Eirene, and a regal young Gryphon, Haizea. Constance learned that Talking Beasts scented and sensed, but did not see as Talking Birds did. Talking Beasts felt; Talking Birds thought. They did not understand Humans well, but were learning. A Talking Beast could probably sense that a Human lied or intended harm, but the Bird would understand why. She learned to tell the difference between a Narnian and a dumb beast or bird.

She learned there was practically no limit to what a Hound could sense and that all the rituals Archen women had to produce second sons were, in the opinion of the Beasts, so much nonsense. This meant that the one way for a woman to succeed in Archenland and attain respect, was left wholly to chance.

And that wasn't good enough for Constance Meryl.

When the Narnians left, without her, she cried for days. And then she decided to run away. She badgered her family until they finally packed her off to the Meryl relations in Narrowhaven and apprenticed her into the House whose name she bore.

Though, being a Banker was no fix-all, either. Stanleh and Linch controlled everything, and Meryl and Sterns ran between the large Houses like trained dumb dogs. In the same class with the likes of Maeve Stanleh and Morgan Linch, she might as well have been invisible. Gertrude had married into the House and she was competent enough, but weak, indecisive, and worst of all, so risk averse, she was stifling growth. And then Gertrude went and gave Alan and Constance's own House to a Linch.

Constance had been so furious. She thought of moving to Narnia, but did not know what she might do there and she was Archen and always would be. And then, while still weighing whether to pack it all in and return to the mainland, during the last shut in, the Zalindreh Building and Works Society was passed to Meryl for review and she saw the story it told. The Society, through the House of Stanleh, was financing those who had stolen the Archen treasury and her Crown Prince and would wage war upon Archenland. Constance did not want to live in Archenland, but she did not want to see it under Calormene occupation, either. It was her home and she loved it and all the Northern lands.

Constance Meryl resolved to destroy the Stanleh Director before he destroyed Archenland.

The question was, how? Dear King Lune was paralyzed, still, over his losses. No one ever listened to her – she was a Meryl and so always underestimated, she'd not be born to this life, and she had no title. Nor did she relish the prospect of the Stanleh Director learning of her plotting against him – given what happened to his Lord Bar, Prince Cor, and the Queen Iris of Archenland, crossing the Stanleh was dangerous.

Narnia was obviously the answer. The Lone Islands were hers even if the Islanders themselves preferred to ignore that fact. But, how to warn Narnia without alerting Stanleh? Narnia needed to come and investigate – really investigate – not those silly state visits.

So, Constance looked at her circle of influence and sent in the Hound of the Lone Islands. Morgan of Linch was focused, brilliant, and stubborn, and when she began noticing the sophisticated agreements coming out of Narnia, the solution presented itself.

"Isn't it all so very odd, Morgan?" Constance had whispered. "Where do you suppose this is coming from? Who do you suppose is responsible? It is such a clever person, don't you think? Perhaps a Centaur? Or a Fox? A Dwarf?"

They had discussed it, round and round and round, until Morgan would not leave off, which had been the whole point. Constance built Morgan's interest into an obsession, and off she had gone. AD Morgan of Linch had infamously exposed the Zalindreh silkmakers pyramid and the Galman winemakers fraud. She would blunder about Narnia, ask impertinent questions, and ramble about the Code and their bizarre Banking practices, and this would raise interest, even alarm. The Narnians were not stupid, simply unfocused. Given what Morgan had already accomplished in Zalindreh, Constance expected a Narnian fleet of auditors by high summer.

But, Constance Meryl never left anything to chance. The risks to Archenland were too real and too great. She needed another alternative, a fallback, in case Narnia did not come soon enough.

Constance Meryl set her sights on Seth Stanleh.

Constance spent long days venting her frustration to someone whose own resentment ran even more deeply than her own.

_I am so unappreciated. Surely, Seth you understand that? _

_I was passed over for Meryl, in favor of Morgan Linch. Why, your own Director has done the same thing, and given Stanleh to your younger, beautiful, talented sister! How unfair to you, Seth._

_These Directors do not see our talent, Seth. _

_It is all the Director's fault. _

_He doesn't appreciate you, Seth If he had put your name forth, instead of Maeve's, Conclave would have approved it. _

_He doesn't see how brilliant you are as we all do.  
_

_If only the Stanleh Director was gone, we could fix everything. Everyone would see how brilliant you are, Seth. _

_It is so simple. _

_If only the Stanleh Director was gone. You are going to Tashbaan, Seth. Ask in the markets. A solution will present itself. We'll fix everything._

When she heard through her spies at Stanleh that the Director had been falling ill, Constance assumed that Seth was assuring a gradual death by poison acquired in Calormen. And she rejoiced in that possibility. Reports from her gossiping contacts and informants were suggesting some intriguing, manipulative possibilities that could unfold with his death. There had even been that garbled report of a betrothal expected for King Edmund of all people – which could not possibly mean Morgan except that when Constance had asked, Princess Peony of Seven Isles has said there wasn't any other human female at Cair Paravel except the Queens and Morgan of Linch.

Once the Narnian Hound appeared, Constance reassessed her plans. She had to be very, very careful. She knew from her time with Queen Lucy and her guards that you could not lie to a Narnian Talking Beast, which Jina obviously was.

The real identity of Harold of Abdon was not something she could permit herself to even think about. Constance knew there were no Harolds in Abdon and there were not that many human males in Narnia. She knew from Briony that the King Edmund had once had a Hound as a guard – though, everyone knew a Tiger guarded the King now. Gertrude had said that Director Linch had been keeping a raven in his office and that was very odd as well for the black Bird was one blazon on the King Edmund's banner. Harold had traveled with Morgan from Archenland, which was also suggestive, if that betrothal rumor could be credited.

There was a game being played here and to earn Narnia's goodwill, she played it. Every time she saw Jina and Harold, Constance had to thrust all contrivance aside to feel in the language of a Narnian Hound. She concentrated on thinking very little, saying even less, and pouring out a great deal of generous _feeling_. _Feel_ goodness and love and kindness. She enjoyed dogs and had sincerely loved the Narnians she had met and she did like Harold. It wasn't hard and what she felt was genuine.

She had, of course, not shared her suspicions with Seth. If he killed his Director while a Narnian Monarch was present, that was of no consequence.

Constance stared again at her reflection in the mirror and smoothed a crease in her bluish-purple working robe. She did not make mistakes very often. In dealing with someone who was so resentful as to be amenable to treachery, the problem was that he was, in fact, an unreliable ally.

She saw what Seth had tried to do on Two Hearts Day. He had become impatient and greedy. Killing his Director wasn't enough – he had to assure Maeve's removal as well. Seth had the gall to cross her and try to open up a place at Meryl – if Morgan had died, or had to replace Pierce at Linch, Gertrude would have gone to her second choice and tried to bring in Maeve as the heir to the Meryl House directorship. Seth would control Stanleh and his sister would lead Meryl – a nice little Stanleh dynasty with Linch in ruin.

_Ridiculous_. Of course Seth had failed. It was a typical Stanleh scheme – wonderful in theory, too complex in execution, and unethical. And if by some chance, he had succeeded, Constance would have thrown him to the Narnian Wolves and other Carnivores for daring to meddle with _her_ Meryl House.

And really, it was so unnecessary. If Seth had only been patient, it would have worked out fine. Seth had panicked when he saw his opportunity slipping away. He knew that, despite the drama, Conclave would not have removed Maeve because she had disagreed with her Director over one account. The Code protected her independence. But, the Bankers _would_ have removed Maeve from Stanleh if she insisted on marrying Pierce. Stanleh could have been his, if he had waited. All he needed to do was remove his Director and encourage Maeve's attachment to Pierce. In the end, Seth just could not imagine that Maeve would give up Stanleh for the likes of Pierce Linch. Constance had considerable sympathy with that view. _Pierce Linch._ _Really. Give up your House? For a Linch?_

Satisfied with the threat her dress conveyed, she took her satchel, and left her House for her first day at the House of Stanleh.

Maeve was waiting for her at the door and was truly a dreadful, weeping, sloppy mess. Had the woman cried continuously since Conclave?

"Good morning Constance," Maeve muttered in the hall, shutting the front door. She looked the gown up and down. "And your message is that the blue of Meryl will subsume Stanleh red if we do not cooperate?"

"That is Narnia's message and I am conveying it on her behalf," Constance replied. "And, AD Maeve, my title is _Director_. Please remember that."

Maeve turned abruptly on her heel. "This way to your office, _Acting Director_."

The Stanleh Bankers were a thoroughly depressed lot as Constance walked the halls. There were ledgers piled everywhere as Bankers emptied their drawers and cabinets under the watchful eyes of Narnian Rats and Crows, and the occasional Hound. Fauns and Dwarfs meticulously recorded the names of the accounts. King Edmund was concerned that the House might toss their accounts into the sea to avoid the Narnian audit. Constance did not think that likely given that the one most likely to give the order, the poisonous (former) Director, had now taken to bed and was retired permanently under Narnian guard. Stanleh Bankers were loyal to their clients and would not destroy the accountings unless under significant duress to do so.

She followed Maeve up a stair to the Stanleh's office. It was cavernous, with heavy, dark woods, rich, blood reds, thick rugs, and velvets. The shutters had been thrown open but the sweet odor of sickness poorly masked still lingered. Flowers would be nice, Constance decided, in lots of purple and blue, with a few red blooms buried within them. She would speak to one of the Narnians about it later.

Feeling a little nervous at her daring, Constance set her satchel on the enormous, polished desk and took the chair that had been occupied for the last fifty years by one of the most powerful and unprincipled men in the Known Lands.

"Please, shut the door, AD Maeve."

"And on which side of it do you want me, Acting Director?" Maeve replied.

"This side."

Maeve shut the door with some force and stood stubbornly in the middle of the office.

Really, for all her business acumen, Maeve was being very belligerent and dense. Constance gestured to the chair closest to the desk." "Please, sit, and draw that chair close." To the greater office, she called out, "If any gentle Narnians is here, would you please make yourselves known so that I might greet and thank you?"

Constance did not think the Narnians would see the need to observe and spy on her. That was why the Monarchs had appointed her as Acting Director of the House of Stanleh. She was _their_ trusted spy and observer. The closed door was added protection as most of the Narnians would not be able to open it without assistance, though a Hound and maybe a Rat would be able to hear through it.

With an air of aggrieved suffering, Maeve dragged the chair next to the desk, an angry scowl on her face.

"I have to compliment you, AD Maeve," Constance began. "From the Narnians' report, you have opened up the House's books and your candor has been noted and appreciated. Queen Susan specifically requested that I thank you for your cooperation."

Maeve shook her head with disgust. "There was no choice in the matter. I made that clear to the juniors and staff. The House is in a ruin. Once word spreads, clients will leave in droves. They will be fortunate to hold on to half of the existing portfolio."

"They?" Constance repeated.

'Of course, _they_," Maeve snapped back. "I am not going to stay here a moment longer than I have to. As soon as someone will accept it, I will tender my resignation as Stanleh AD and leave."

"And do what?" Constance asked, trying to not let her amusement show.

Maeve rolled her eyes as if Constance was the one who was being short-sighted. "Marry Pierce, of course!"

"That day will never come, AD Maeve," Constance replied.

If she had thought Maeve angry before, now she knew what her true fury was. "We will!" Maeve bit out angrily. "The King Edmund even told Pierce that…"

"Oh Maeve, shut it, would you?" Constance interrupted, finally losing her patience. "Stop acting like such a sniveling fool. Get your head out of your lover's bed and think like a Banker!"

Maeve's hand smacked on the desk so hard it set the dried-up ink bottles to rocking. "Pierce and I will be together and …"

"Certainly you can be together," Constance interrupted. She could not believe Maeve had turned into such an idiot over the likes of Pierce Linch. _A Linch? For Maeve?_ If Seth had waited, the horror and shame of it would have killed the Stanleh outright. There was no accounting for love and lust. "But you must not, cannot, leave Stanleh."

"I can! I'm not going to be your AD permanently, _Acting_ Director!"

Constance cupped a hand in her chin and looked at the fuming woman, so amused. Really what was it about love that made some women completely lose their sense? Pierce Linch had not become such an idiot. Morgan… well, Constance did not think Morgan could identify what she felt much less act appropriately based upon it. She suspected the King Edmund was not much better.

"Of course you will not be my permanent AD, Maeve. I do not want that anymore than you do."

That stopped Maeve and her next outburst. "You don't?"

"No. To be clear, I do not wish to be the Stanleh. I have every intention of satisfying Narnia, burnishing my credential, seeing you installed in the Directorship here, and then returning to my own House."

Maeve's eyes and voice narrowed. "I _have_ to leave Stanleh. Otherwise, I'll never be able to join Pierce. The Conclave would never approve it."

Constance stared at Maeve, giving her the opportunity to say something intelligent. The AD remained stupid and silent.

"AD Maeve, please tell me how, under our new regime, what the Conclave wishes matters, as they say in Calormen, an ass' donkey?"

And, finally, Constance saw comprehension dawning. She helped Maeve along.

"AD Maeve, please tell me why you would abandon the prestige and influence that will come to the women who rebuild the House of Stanleh to the satisfaction of Narnia when you can have _both_ the House _and_ the husband?"

Maeve looked about the room, a welcome and thoughtful calculation finally returning to her expression. "And the Code?" Maeve asked, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Linch is rewriting it?"

Constance nodded. "And we have been asked to collaborate with AD Morgan in the redraft."

She did not need to say what Maeve would infer. Morgan would have to approve it, but still they had enormous latitude. So long as no one House was favored and there was nothing inimical to Narnia, they could likely put into the Code whatever they wished, up to, and including elimination of the Conclave's authority over arranged matrimony and approval of House succession.

"What of you, Acting Director?" Maeve asked, sounding like her rational, shrewd self. "You have the trust of Narnia and the largest, most profitable Banking House of the Known Lands. Why would you leave Stanleh?"

"Because I don't want Stanleh. Meryl and Alan are mine." Constance had thought long on whether to bring Maeve this far into her confidence. She decided they would be very useful to one another working in tandem.

"With all due respect, Acting Director, Alan Meryl and his House are both for Morgan of Linch." Maeve smiled, undoubtedly feeling a smug superiority.

"With all due respect, AD Maeve, that assumes Morgan of Linch remains in the Lone Islands."

Maeve again turned sour. "I will not countenance…"

"Oh Maeve, would you _think_?" Constance said, exasperated. "I'm sure Pierce could not say anything, being the loyal Linch, but did you not see it?"

"What?"

"Morgan has been the lover of King Edmund for over a year."

A lovely expression – shock. Constance enjoyed shocking people because she did it so seldom. To shock people was to reveal that you were the sort of person who knew or did shocking things, and Constance preferred others were ignorant of her latent talents and personal agenda.

"That's impossible!"

"Unlikely, yes, but true. By the accounts of the Linch House staff and others, it is a very close and intimate relationship."

"But the conflicts! The bias is outrageous. How could either be objective? It…" Maeve stopped and shook her head with disgust. She was finally learning. "He is the law. He can do as he wishes, Morgan always does what she wishes, and the Code doesn't matter an ass' donkey."

"Granted, he did leave without her. I think Morgan was surprised at that."

Constance had been unpleasantly surprised as well. Still, she wouldn't make the same mistakes Seth did. Patience. All in good time. Pack Morgan off to Narnia, make sure she stayed there, and all their problems were solved. She would do everything in her power to assure that outcome.

Maeve picked up a lead from the desk and twirled it between her fingers. "Perhaps. But, I would not read too much into it, either. Morgan has railed against the Code for years. She would know that to do it right, she'd need to be here to supervise it." With sly sideways glance, she added, "You are not the only one who thinks beyond the immediate. Morgan also excels at long term strategizing."

"She has already been ordered by Chief Sallowpad to return and report on the Stanleh audit," Constance said, agreeing with the supposition as Maeve presented it.

Maeve nodded and absently tapped the lead on the desk. "Remarkable, when you consider it. Morgan is the most difficult of any manager in the Houses. That she and King Edmund remained together through all of shut-in tells you just how close they must be."

Constance had felt no such pressure with Alan, but she knew him to be an extraordinary exception.

"You need to get at the Linch loyalty, Acting Director. That's the lever that will move Morgan, and all the way to Narnia if need be." Maeve said decisively. "And you must eliminate her divided loyalty by convincing Linch and Meryl that there is more to gain from Morgan in Narnia than at Meryl."

She almost snapped that of course she knew these things. But, in truth, Constance had not thought to articulate them quite that way. Constance felt relief, though she was careful to not show it. They both knew she did not possess the same acumen and training that Maeve had and she had known Morgan all her life. Maeve was a valuable resource. "AD Maeve, I promise you that the day Morgan remains in Narnia is the day I return to Meryl and the day you take Stanleh."

Maeve stared at her from across the desk and the lead slipped from her fingers. She put her hand out, Constance took it, and they firmly shook.

"You and I, Acting Director, have a meeting of the minds."

* * *

Here ends Part 2 of _Harold and Morgan: Not a Romance_, _In the Lone Islands_. Part 3, _Death of a Hound_, will follow.

* * *

A huge thanks to those of you who came out of the woodwork to support this story that otherwise would have died. I need to turn to some challenges but will pick up _Apostolic Way_ again in August and September. _Death of a Hound_ is about 50% complete (and two segments of it are in TQSiT, actually), but I'm going to let it settle for a little bit.

I will post some notes on development of this part of the story in my Live Journal, including what it was supposed to have been and the worldbuilding.

Why yes, the Lion broach appears, which you can see a picture of in Anastigmat's Live Journal. Links are in my profile. My thanks to her for adding to that part of their story.

And speaking of AW, if you are reading that story as well, yes, I know, this couple still has a long way to go before they reach the place in AW where Edmund writes in Rat and Crow to Morgan in his journal and hears her beyond the Wall of Water and Lilies. As has been observed, we know where it ends – this is how they get there.


	13. Chapter 13 Black and Blue

**Part 3 of Harold and Morgan: Not a Romance**  
**Chapter 13, Black and Blue**

_Roses shed pollen, ink is black-blue_  
_Harold and Morgan both get a clue._

ooOOoo

When we last left Harold and Morgan, King Edmund was sailing back to Narnia with a conniving, incompetent murderer in the brig and disgruntled and calculating Narnian crew. Morgan remained in Narrowhaven with a pregnant Rat in the kitchen and months of tax code revisions ahead of her. Susan seems to have her eye on Rafe Linch, Morgan's father, Director of the House of Linch. Constance Meryl and Maeve Stanleh plotted how to get Morgan out of the banking business and to Narnia, permanently.

Everyone was very focused upon assuring a long term relationship for King Edmund and AD Morgan of the House of Linch, with the exception of King Edmund and AD Morgan, who continue to blunder about with formidable acumen and yet no emotional intelligence whatsoever.

ooOOoo

All Peter had wanted was a little quiet after frantic activity for months. Susan had insisted he accompany her to the Seven Isles to meet their new Banker, Director Linch. He had thought it an odd request – Susan could have handled the ongoing review of the code revisions, the interim report on the House of Stanleh audit, and the briefing Director Linch would provide on her diplomatic foray to Telmar.

Further, the Seven Isles meant a sea voyage and Peter hated boats. He really did. Susan insisted and so he relented, grudgingly. It was only on arrival and seeing his sister with Rafe Linch that Peter understood that Susan had wanted his support for diplomacy of a more intimate nature.

Susan had been very shy about it all but if Lambert approved, and he did, Peter was certainly not going to second guess the Wolf's judgment. It was a useful exercise for Fooh as well. The Cheetah was able to observe a human courtship and consult with Lambert on the matter.

For Peter's own part, he liked Director Linch very well, but he had expected that. Edmund, Willa, Sallowpad and Jina all respected the man and Susan was thoroughly smitten. What Peter especially appreciated was to finally have an intelligent advisor who was a person of substance in the greater world who was also loyal to Narnia. The days were filled with Linch providing Peter what he had not even known he had lacked. And in the evenings, Peter left his sister and her new lover to their privacy.

Then they returned to Cair Paravel in time to see Lucy off. She was traveling to Archenland to meet Morgan of Linch. (Peter resolutely refused to consider that his brother had been the lover to the daughter of his sister's lover – really could it be any more peculiarly Narnian?). Lucy and Morgan were investigating the Lagour Mountains silver mine in Calormen. Then, Susan was off to Telmar with a very large delegation.

For the first time in over a year, it would be he and Edmund alone. Peter had thought it would be a pleasant change for a month or two. They could ride and hunt, pummel each other senseless on the training ground, patrol the Northern borders, visit friends, dance and revel with the Woodland Narnians, enjoy some non-pollinating Dryad company, go camping or climbing, and avoid boats.

A month in and Peter thought murder would be done. As he would kill the Just King, there would be no one to adjudicate the crime and, besides, no Narnian would blame him. The Cair Paravel staff would help.

"Are you sure there are no letters for me?" Edmund asked, for the third time that morning over breakfast

"Yes, your Majesty," Mr. Hoberry replied. Even their unflappable Faun housekeeper was sounding irritated.

"Nothing from Archenland? Nothing from Banker Morgan?"

"No, your Majesty," Peter mouthed as Mr. Hoberry stated the obvious as there had surely been no correspondence received in the arduously long stretch of time between the pouring of the coffee and the serving of the toast.

Edmund shoved back his plate irritably. "Is there any word from Lucy on when they are coming back here?"

"No," Peter replied, again, and drained his coffee. He should have skipped breakfast and the coffee and gone straight to Lightning. "And as I told you yesterday morning, yesterday afternoon and last night, and again this morning, Lucy said that only she would be returning. Our Banker intends to remain in Archenland and forward her recommendations to us regarding the mining venture."

"But why is she not coming here?" Edmund said, sounding very peevish.

Peter could not stand it. His fist to the table set the glass to rocking. "Brother, I am not going within a league of you, Morgan, and your relationship. Are we clear?"

"It's not a relationship!"

Jalur snarled at this ridiculous pronouncement; Mr. Hoberry choked and nearly dropped a plate.

"It is not a relationship?" Not yet knowing any better and determined to learn, Fooh would go where no one else would dare to tread.

"No," Edmund repeated, sounding not at all convinced himself.

"This confuses me," Fooh concluded.

"And me as well," Peter said feelingly.

Mr. Hoberry picked up plates with such force he obviously had views on the subject.

"Yes, Mr. Hoberry?" Peter asked, seeking to share the censure and broaden the consensus toward action and more favourable outcomes. "Do you have something to add?"

"Oh, no your Majesty,"

"Out with it, Mr. Hoberry!" Edmund ordered.

"Well, as letters from Archenland are not coming here, perhaps, King Edmund, you might go there?"

Profound silence greeted this profound observation.

Finally, Edmund spoke in a very uncertain voice. "But why should I go there?"

"Isn't that what you would do to court Banker Morgan?" Fooh asked, sounding so innocent Peter wondered if his young Guard was growing into Cat-like guile.

"I'm not courting Banker Morgan!"

"You aren't?" Fooh flicked his tail and Peter could see his Guard working to understand what was truly inexplicable. "Why not?"

ooOOoo

Courting. Was he going courting? How did one court a woman? Did Morgan want to be courted? Surely she would not object to courting if he was the one doing it? King! He was a King! He had saved her life! She admired his intellect, contracting acumen, and person. So courting necessarily could follow.

Couldn't it?

There were formidable complications. Morgan was supposed to marry Alan Meryl. Edmund had a number of solutions to that problem, beginning with letting Jalur eat the Meryl Banker to personally presiding over Alan's marriage to Constance Meryl of the same house.

However, such punitive measures were premature even as his imagination reveled in Alan Meryl's cries as he was savaged by Otters in the Romp. He wanted to court Morgan, not those other things. _Probably?_

He pushed those other things aside for now. Not relevant. In Narnia many couples engaged in courting each season. The salient point was that if Morgan was on this side of the Eastern Sea, he wanted her here, by his side and in his bed, and next to him at table and in the Library. He had lived with the alternatives for the last few months and none was a substitute for Morgan.

So why _was_ she not here?

When he and Morgan had last parted in the Lone Islands, he had wanted her to come back to Narnia. He had even hinted at it, but she had said she needed to stay to work on the code revisions. Her work was important to her, to the greater world, and to Narnia. She had begun the task, ordered it to her satisfaction, and then gone to Calormen with Lucy. So why wouldn't Morgan come to Narnia now? She must be upset for some reason he could not fathom. This was all very unlike Morgan. One of the reasons he so valued her was that their …ship was characterised by a refreshing lack of mushy, confusing overly emotive conduct.

Go to Archenland, court Morgan, and bring her back to Narnia?

_Yes_, Edmund decided. _That seems reasonable_. Needing no further encouragement, his imagination was already saddling a horse, leaving his intellect to soldier on alone, which was not optimal in this situation. He ran after his imagination, threw a rope around it, and tethered it to the ground. They needed to think this through.

He had done nothing for Morgan on Two Hearts Day, except for performance of illustrations thirteen, four, and eighteen, half of twenty-two, and the reading of the contract almost to Section V. Granted, he, his imagination, and his intellect deemed this a truly prodigious feat. It had not, however, been enough. She had said the two of them weren't romantic and they weren't in the conventional sense (and that did still rankle him a little).

More importantly, Edmund the Just, King of Narnia, Duke of the Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March, etc., would not be outdone by Alan Meryl.

Peter had stalked off from the breakfast table in disgust, leaving Edmund to look at the basket of letters that were reports from Pierce Linch, Maeve Stanleh, and Constance Meryl about the code revisions and the House of Stanleh audit. It was all going very well, however, he wanted Morgan's assessment of her colleagues' work undertaken in her absence. She would be unable to censor her opinion, even of her own brother and would be especially critical of anything Maeve did. Come to think on it, dangling that prospect would be a powerful incentive for her to come to Narnia and back into his life. He was confident that that was not a conventional way to court a woman, but Morgan was not like other women. She was far superior to them.

How else should he court Morgan? He needed expert opinion.

"So, Jalur," Edmund asked, finding some appetite for the first time in days.

"Your Majesty?"

"You are a worldly, experienced Tiger. How did you go about courting?"

Jalur curled his upper lip over a long fang.

"But you have wooed females!" Edmund exclaimed. "Surely you have secrets you might share with your liege?"

"Courtship among Tigers is too simple and straightforward for the likes of Humans," Jalur said with snarl. "If she is willing, we mate. If not, we do not. Regardless we then, fortunately, go our separate ways."

Tigers _were_ a very poor model in that regard. Edmund did not want to mate just once with Morgan. They had gone their separate ways and it was not satisfactory.

"Perhaps looking to the Wolves for an example, your Majesty? Mr. Hoberry said, refilling his tea cup.

"Or the Birds," Edmund mused. Many of them had terrific displays.

"But what will you do for courtship if you can't fly?"

Edmund looked up at the cornice. "What do you mean?"

Kangee flapped down from his perch and landed awkwardly on the back of a dining room chair. "When I've courted Harah the last two seasons, she wanted me to fly upside down. What will you do?"

"An excellent question, my good Crow. Morgan has never been interested in observing my prowess at arms."

"You should preen your feathers," Kangee said.

Mr. Hoberry made a sound of agreement.

"I heard that and I know what you would say, Mr. Hoberry!" Edmund retorted but without the heat he would normally give to this annoyingly familiar topic.

"For your trip to Anvard, perhaps your Majesty would allow me to pack the clothing that does not have ink stains?"

Kangee bobbed his head. "You should look your best! Show yourself to advantage."

Mr. Hoberry and Susan were always after him to improve his wardrobe. He just did not care for these things as they did. If _King_ meant anything at all, he should be able to wear what he wanted. Morgan was not overly concerned with these things either. He liked her best wearing one of his ink stained shirts and nothing else. Bankers however did care about their appearances and he had seen her dress very nicely when the circumstances warranted it.

Alan Meryl had dressed very prettily. His imagination growled at the notion as clothes just got in the way of pursuit of the greater mysteries and were discarded as quickly as possible. His intellect saw merit to the notion of putting a good hoof forward and was not about to be outdone by a _Banker_.

"I will agree to no ink stains," Edmund decided. "But nothing foppish, Mr. Hoberry. No tassels or embroidery. Nothing too bright."

"Of course, your Majesty."

The Faun could have had the graces to look a trifle less triumphantly smug.

"Mr. Hoberry?" Mrs. Furner was calling from the kitchens. "What's keeping you…"

The Dwarfess turned the corner and entered the breakfast room. "Oh, excuse me, King Edmund. I did not know you were still at table."

"Not at all, Mrs. Furner. I apologize for detaining our good Faun. He has been providing me with excellent advice. Indeed, it occurs to me that you might be of similar assistance."

Mrs. Furner dusted off her apron and looked between them. "I'm glad as always, your Majesty. How can I help?"

"Courting," Kangee put in, interrupting. "King Edmund is going to go court Banker Morgan in Archenland and wants to do it proper."

"Oh!"

Edmund could not tell if Mrs. Furner was shocked or delighted. Perhaps both. "I have been soliciting opinions," he told her.

"No ink stains," Mrs. Furner said.

"King Edmund has agreed to accommodate me that far," Mr. Hoberry said.

"And no food in your pockets!" Mrs. Furner added vehemently.

Kangee flapped his wings and a few feathers floated down into the butter and jam on the table. "So long as you keep Shinys."

"No food, no Shinys, either!" came a voice from under the table. A nose peeked out from under the cloth and the rest of the Rat followed.

"Raz, I am sure we can make accommodation for both Crows and Rats in my pockets and accomplish courting Morgan," Edmund told the testy Rat Buck. With Keme and Teddy still in the Lone Islands and Willa in Telmar with Susan, the third in command of the Mischief, Raz, was feeling the pressure of performance, and probably no small amount of envy. Making good on the promise, Edmund handed Raz a piece of buttered toast from his plate.

"Thwank u Kwng Edmnd," Raz said around his now full mouth. With a squawk from Kangee, Edmund fished out a tin filigree for the Crow, realizing only after Mrs. Furner sighed that he had stuck buttered, greasy fingers into his pockets.

"So, Mrs. Furner, what of your own courtship? Do you have any suggestions for your poor, perplexed Monarch?" Edmund hoped this did not result in another scolding about the clotted cream and honey in his rooms. He knew that Red Dwarfs exchanged hand-crafted items during courtship.

She blushed, her kind face reddening to a shade slightly lighter than her hair. "Mr. Furner thought long and hard about what I would like. He made a beautiful pair of scissors for me and forged a set of first rate kitchen knives."

"They are very fine tools," Mr. Hoberry said, "though perhaps nothing so sharp for Banker Morgan?"

Edmund agreed wholeheartedly. He did not want Morgan and sharp objects in his proximity.

"And what did you give Mr. Furner in return?" Edmund asked.

She sniffed. "My Mr. Furner was a dab hand, King Edmund. First rate draftsman and builder."

Edmund had recalled hearing that of their housekeeper's late husband. Mr. Furner had been one of the many who had not survived Jadis' purges. They had never found his body. "What did you give him?"

"A fine set of drafting tools I made for him myself."

Mr. Hoberry handed her a table linen as she began dabbing her eyes with the corner of her apron.

"Mr. Hoberry? What of you? Do you have any courtship advice?"

The expression on the Faun's face turned so wistful, Edmund suddenly realized his tactless error. "I apologize, good Faun. I should not have spoken so blithely with so little regard for you."

The Faun bowed his curly, graying head. "Thank you, King Edmund. It is pleasant, though, to speak of and remember that there was happiness, for all that it ended so tragically."

Mrs. Furner patted Mr. Hoberry's arm. "There were good times aplenty before they turned bad. There's no shame in remembering them."

The Faun's smile was wan, but genuine. "In answer to your question, Noll and I met during one of the secret dances we held in the Long Winter. We danced, and drank ice wine, and sang of our oppression."

"Noll was a good Faun then," Mrs. Furner said stoutly. "Fearless and so very kind. Very handsome, too."

Edmund felt terribly for bringing up so painful a subject. Mr. Hoberry was obviously pained with Mrs. Furner's words. But he nodded and continued, "The third dance, on a full moon, it was very wild and ecstatic, even for Fauns. They were such desperate times. Noll came home with me and stayed for the next 37 years. He did not leave until the day he was apprehended as a spy." Mr. Hoberry sighed and began gathering up the plates.

Edmund did not know what to say in so melancholy a mood but Mrs. Furner patted Mr. Hoberry's arm again and began tidying up the breakfast room. "Best get this straightened or we'll be setting the places for lunch!"

Mr. Hoberry picked up the basket of letters and would see them delivered to the Library. "So, King Edmund, you see that two Fauns courted with dancing and ice wine. The secrecy, oppression, and cold of the Winter added a sense of danger, but I do not deem those necessary, exciting though it was."

"Morgan does not dance," Edmund replied, grateful, sorry, and following the Faun's lead in changing the subject. "And she drinks ale and beer, not wine."

"I think, King Edmund, it is engaging in activity together that matters, whatever it might be."

00OO00

This was all just so much harder than Morgan had thought it would be. Harold had sailed away, so she had walked away. That was it, right? It was over. So why was it still so difficult?

She and Lucy had had a lovely time in Calormen. The investigation of the mine had been terrific and it was just like that first, happy trip to the Telmar River about Jezebel the Beaver. This time Morgan knew the Narnians, they knew her, and she was there in her own right, as an auditor, banker, and colleague and not just baggage or a Monarch's latest bed warmer. It was the very best sort of engagement with good company and interesting work, doing something that her client, in this case the Red Dwarf clan really wanted, and she'd come up with several options to do it that made good sense for Narnia. They weren't just getting to _yes_, but getting to a good _yes_ and that always made her happy.

It all ended too soon and they were eager to see the pleasant time continue. So they stopped in Archenland to share the mirth. She needed to catch up with Lune and his Exchequer, Lord Ker, and meet and train Ker's new assistant. Lucy liked Archenland and with Queen Susan off in Telmar and the Kings back at Cair Paravel, there was no rush to go back. Morgan wasn't looking forward to going to Narnia, though she knew she had to, eventually.

She'd understood Harold's message well enough when he'd left the Lone Islands and given her a work assignment and a gold pin, and barely a word since except for a few very business-like messages about the tax code revisions which she had given to Pierce.

Never invest in anything that eats. That was the real message. Move along. Marry Alan, run Meryl, steal Archenland as a client from Pierce, and maybe Narnia too, and try to get used to the idea of Maeve Stanleh as a sister-in-law.

_Maeve. Really? Related to Maeve? _

So, Morgan had been shocked when Lune had come to see her in the counting rooms to say that Harold was coming to Anvard. Lune had been very nice and a little sly and Morgan thought Lune probably guessed that the Just King was coming for reasons other than to see his sister and for a briefing from their Banker on the progress of the revisions to the tax code.

"Why couldn't he just stay in Narnia?" Morgan complained to Jina as she tried blotting up the ink splattering on her desk. It wasn't working very well. "Why is he coming here? It's just going to make it worse! It's over!"

Jina had gotten up from her place in the corner and put her head on Morgan's knee. "Perhaps he misses you," the Hound said. "Perhaps he wishes to see you and be with you again as you were before."

"But I don't want to see him again!" She rubbed Jina's ears. The poor Hound had black ink splotches on her white and brown domed head. They'd given up trying to keep her spot-free and now the ink stains looked like part of her natural coat.

Jina growled.

Morgan buried her head in her hands and instantly regretted her self-pity. She'd have ink on her face now. She quickly rubbed her cheek with a clean cloth. "Did I get it all?"

Jina's brows scrunched as she searched. Hounds saw well, but differently. "I believe so."

Morgan wrung the cloth in her hands. "I'm so stupid. I know better than this, Jina. This is why you should never invest in anything that eats."

"I have no idea what you mean, Morgan," Jina said.

"You should never get attached to things that eat. They aren't permanent. You should only invest in things that can be valued, traded, bought and sold. You don't get emotionally involved in things that don't eat."

"I do not agree with that at all, Morgan," Jina said with another low growl. "I am very much invested in you, as you put it. There is wealth measured in things other than coin, which you know very well and which makes you very different from the other Bankers."

"It's different!" Morgan responded weakly.

"It is not," Jima retorted. "I would poorer indeed without your friendship and I know you feel the same way."

Jina cocked her head to the side. "I believe the Narnians are near. King Edmund will be arriving soon."

Morgan groaned. "You go, Jina. And don't say I'm here if anyone asks."

Jina's hair stood up on her back as she rose and shook herself. "I shall do no such thing." She nudged Morgan's hands that were still squeezing the ink blotter. "You should come, Morgan. I'm sure King Edmund wishes to see you."

"Well I do not wish to see him!"

Jina just sighed and her lips fluttered. "I do not believe you, Morgan. You don't lie to others. Don't lie to yourself." She pushed Morgan in the side, again. "As advisor to both Narnia and Archenland, you should come down to the courtyard and see the King's arrival."

"I hate it when you remind me of protocol."

Morgan let herself be persuaded. She quickly changed into one of her green gowns that the Crows liked and wore her Archenland pin and the Narnia badges, both the painted wooden one that Narnians had made for her and the heavy gold lion Harold had given her. She'd just be one of the other anonymous advisors to the court.

It was an enormous ruckus. The courtyard was packed with people all wildly cheering when the Narnians came through the gates to a trumpet fanfare. What in the name of Zardeenah's three tits was Harold thinking coming to Anvard with such a fuss? It was very like the to-do when Queen Susan arrived in Narrowhaven, smaller in number, but nearly as loud. There were banners and the Birds were flying about with gay streamers in their claws.

"You even brought a pony!" Lucy cried, waving at her brother. The Queen laughed and waded into the throng to greet the Narnians.

Next to her, the Anvard steward sighed. King Lune clapped him on the shoulder. "At least we do not need rooms for Centaurs and Crows!"

Harold was riding a fancy horse that pranced about with lots of snorting and blowing.

"King Edmund is a splendid sight, don't you agree AD Morgan?" Lune said, applauding at the spectacle. "That horse is no easy ride. The King is nearly equal to the Queen Susan, I think, and she is the finest horseman of the Northern lands."

Harold did look very … oh never mind that.

King Lune put a genial arm on her shoulders. "Shall we do our duty and greet King Edmund?"

Morgan shook her head. "You go, Sir. I will just…" She shrugged out from under Lune's guiding arm.

She could see Harold was scanning the crowd, probably looking for her. As Lune went down the steps, Morgan ducked behind the courtyard's very large stone pillars in order to better evaluate their circumferences. It took a little while since she had to do all the sums in her head and by the time she was done, Harold had been hustled off for a reception with Lune and Lucy and some of the other visiting dignitaries. The Crows found her and then Morgan was among Narnians again.

The reunions _were_ wonderful and reminded her of all the reasons why she had so loved being in Narnia. Morgan saw Jalur and all the Archenlanders thought her very daring when she gave the big Tiger a hug. Eirene had come and Morgan admired the Centauress' new big axe thing. Pliny, the Centaur scholar, brought some special monographs from the Physician: _The Role of the Male_ _In Matriarchal Societies _and _Nestbuilding For Dummies: A DIY Guide_. Morgan was very touched that Wrasse, the old Black Leopard, had made the journey. Jina was very happy to see so many members of her Palace Pack and there was lots of tails wagging and sniffing and excited barking. Mrs. Furner, Mr. Hoberry, and Jezebel all sent gifts and notes. (Jezebel's was a big green bow, which Eirene helped her put on because it was very sweet of the Beaver to make one especially for her.) There were Crows everywhere squabbling over the Shinys she doled out from her pockets.

A tinny, irate voice pierced through the din. "Oi! Make room you fuckwits!" One of the Otters came bounding forward, rolling a very battered orange along courtyard's flagstones. He pushed it to her. "Hey, Orange Lady. I brought this all the way from the Palace, I did, so you'd better appreciate it."

The orange bounced to a stop at her feet with a squelch. Morgan bent down and picked up the bruised fruit and shook the juice from her shoe. She wanted to hug the Otter but if she did so, he'd probably bite her nose off. She held out her hand. "Thank you, Friend," and solemnly shook paws with the smug, leering Otter. "It is a very fine gift."

ooOOoo

"You're hiding from King Edmund," Jina accused later that evening when Morgan forgot to go to the welcoming banquet. She could hear the meal ending and music starting in the Great Hall. There would be the dreaded dancing soon and she would have none of it.

"I am not!"

Jina growled.

"There is nothing unusual about me skipping meals or taking them here in the counting rooms," Morgan told the grumbling Hound. "And you know I don't go to parties. You don't have to stay here with me. Go be with the rest of the Pack."

"You should be there, Morgan. You won't be able to avoid this forever."

Morgan shrugged and returned to her Archen guild ledgers.

"I know what you are doing, Morgan. It won't work." With a lip-fluttering sigh, Jina left.

Morgan stayed. She had her own power in Anvard and she could use it to be left alone. Tomorrow was very busy, and the day after and the one after that. She was working with the Exchequer, Lord Ker, on investment strategies, training his assistant, Lady Sharra, and had a series of meetings with guild representatives from the lower town to determine what equipment needed to be replaced next year and how to plan for it now.

If Morgan kept to her normal schedule and place with the other advisors of the court, she could probably avoid Harold completely.

She was not, however, so isolated that she did not learn of the stir Harold was causing among the women in the court. By the second day, Morgan was overhearing in the guest wing of the Palace the whispers about why King Edmund wasn't married yet and who his latest lover might be, and how handsome he was, and yes, he was handsome, and did look exceptionally nice and if those ladies didn't stop talking about him, Morgan was going to move a few zeros on their families' next household accounting or ask some of the Crows to misplace the Ladies' gems. For a little while. Maybe even a long while.

Still, what she saw made it all clearer and her wavering resolve stronger. Women were wrangling for Harold's attention, flirting with him, and gossiping about him. She herself was automatically dismissed – not as a servant who might be used, but as something else, both higher and lower. If the matters had involved trade, accounting, finance, she was important and valued, considered and sought after. In matters of courtly romantic manoeuvring and manipulation, she was completely invisible.

The ladies went about their pursuit of Harold and Morgan went about her business on behalf of Archenland and Narnia. This was as it should be, Morgan decided, as she viciously corrected sums in a ledger with bold marks of ink. Harold had sailed away, she had walked away and now in the foreign court with all the lords and ladies and flirting (which she saw but had no idea how to do) and witty conversation (which she definitely could not do), Morgan understood what she had been to him before and what she was now. Harold had been more important to her than she had been to him and that was her fault not his. He was a King, she knew what Kings did and sleeping with their Bankers wasn't advisable. It had only started because she had been in Narnia unofficially and then continued because he had been in Narrowhaven anonymously. Now she was Banker to the court of Narnia and he was sovereign over the Lone Islands, her House and the other Houses. To continue the affair showed partiality and he was the Just after all and couldn't do that sort of thing now.

Never invest in anything that eats. The Narnians cared for her and she cared for them and always would. That gift was more than enough. Harold had left. The cat had told her that what came to Narnia could leave by the same way. She'd not heard from that cat in months, which meant, obviously, that the cat thought being with Harold was a bad idea, too.

He had left. Over. Done.

That's what she told herself. She didn't try to discuss it with Jina who was so irritated with her, the Hound's fur was always sticking up and her lip curled in a perpetual grimace. Morgan knew her logic was very faulty and Jina would point out all the flaws in the reasoning.

She was just beginning to think it had worked and she could disappear into the stonework of Anvard – it had been quarried from pits at the base of Mount Pire and had a lovely blue and gray tone to it with veins of red and silver and was much sought after as building material. She had negotiated an excellent supply agreement last year with Telmar.

Harold, apparently tired of waiting for her to find him, began seeking her out in earnest. He was, after all, a visiting Royal and could be pretty imperial-like when he wanted to be. The Anvard staff were all hopping to for his every whim. If that meant knowing where Morgan was not-hiding, they'd inform the King Edmund, _oh yes, your Royal Majesty, AD Morgan is in the southern counting room now_.

She kept tripping over him, like the dumb cat hanging around the hearth. He was everywhere in Anvard. In the hall. In the library. In the counting rooms. He was with Lucy too, but with Briony's help Lucy was steering clear of them both and it was amazing how Lucy could suddenly disappear.

"I am not going to help you avoid him, and I am not going to warn you when he approaches," Jina said in a huff, after their third, near encounter in the hallways.

Before Harold could say anything, Morgan had hurried away, citing urgent business with a balance sheet that required her immediate attention _right now_. She was running out of ready excuses.

"This is unlike you, Morgan, playing such court games."

"It's not a game!" Morgan wailed, splattering ink all over her metalworkers ledger. "It's self-preservation! Harold eats!"

It became hopeless once he enlisted the Crows to report on where she was not-hiding. Acknowledging the inevitability, Morgan stuffed her notes in a working ledger and carried it with her wherever she went, clutching it to her chest like a child with a rag toy. If she could not avoid what was coming, she would at least be prepared.

Dinner of the fourth night and Morgan had to concede the battle lost. Lune asked that she attend the evening banquet, which meant Harold had probably put him up to it and she could not refuse. Worse still, she arrived in the grand dining room, ledger in hand, to find the servants had moved her up from the advisors' table to the dais with the royal guests and high ranking visitors. Harold was undoubtedly behind that too and now she was seated across from him.

A tiny part of her that was wildly hopeful was then brutally smothered by the reality that they were at dinner. Harold would be eating. Never invest in anything that eats. Morgan steeled herself for the ordeal to follow.

At least there could not be any awkward conversation between them. Lady Much More Dim Than The One Next To Her (her real name was Astrid) and the One Next To Her Who Actually Wasn't All That Dim (her real name was Beryl) kept filling the space with their corseted breasts and light, clever, socially appropriate chatter. Harold tried to ignore them and make polite conversation with her but they shouldn't discuss the code revisions or the mine recommendations publicly. If they weren't going to talk business she wasn't going to speak to him at all.

She could see that Harold was irritated from the set of his shoulders – which looked very nice under his new… oh never mind – and the way Jalur was lashing his tail and looking at the other ladies with narrow eyes. It made her feel better to think that Jalur might eat Ladies Beryl and Astrid. A Tarkaan from a far southern province next to her was interesting and had some intriguing ideas about irrigation but she knew what he wanted from her and she wasn't going to give any more to him than she already had without getting paid for it.

She thought that maybe Harold was giving the Tarkaan nasty looks, but that was ridiculous.

Morgan stared at her plate and stirred her food, listened to everything everyone said, admired the well-crafted woof and warp of the table linens – they were woven in cotholds around the Winding Arrow and the dyes were from a special indigo plant that provided an intensity much prized in Calormene markets – and knew Harold was watching her.

The meal went on forever and the sense of wrongness intensified. She didn't belong up here on the dais with the royals and their guests. Lord Ker was sitting at the next table down with his new assistant, Sharra, who Morgan had been very impressed with. There was also a junior banker from Meryl, and two Calormene delegates from the carpenters' guild and their Sterns representative who were hoping to negotiate for a steadier supply of Archenland timber (not at the price they were prepared to offer), and some others involved in the trade, including Lady Beryl's shipwright. When between the courses the servants came around with the scented water for their hands, Morgan nodded to Lune, rose from her place, and went down a table to where she belonged.

No one said anything. She worked for the people at the high table, she wasn't one of them, and she didn't belong there.

She felt better as soon as she joined the advisors' table. She shared a plate with Lady Sharra, talked about the crop rotation in the Archen valley holds, and laughed at Lord Ker's very funny jokes.

Everyone stood, Morgan with them, when Lune and his guests left for the evening entertainment in the Great Hall. Harold gave her a pointed look and Jalur's fur was sticking out but they both followed Lune and Lucy out of the room. Harold had the arms of Lady Astrid and Lady Beryl and Morgan thought about setting the Crows on Lady Astrid and valuing that new ship of Lady Beryl's at three times its cost so she'd pay a higher tariff when she took delivery on it. Jina's head and tail were down and with a very reproachful look, the Hound followed her King and Queen into the Great Hall.

"Shall we to the parlour, my friends?" Lord Ker asked after the royals filed out. "Cards and coffee? See what other business we might conduct while our lieges are entertained?"

Morgan went arm and arm with Sharra.

"You could leave the ledger one night, Morgan dear," Sharra said.

"I have notes in here I will need," she told her fellow accountant. "And I will want to keep track of how much I win from Sterns and their Tashbaan clients."

They both laughed.

They poured coffee and settled around the gaming tables. When a black feather floated down from the ceiling, she looked up. "Harah, are you hiding up there?"

There was a rustle of feathers and a scrape of claws. "It's me and Kangee," Harah said from her perch in the beams.

"If you want to join our stakes, I'll help you, but no cheating!"

Everyone else laughed at the Crows' indignant squawking, but Morgan knew better.

She was keen on enjoying the rest of the evening. She might win a few hands and see if the Sterns banker would budge on the price he was offering for a cord of lumber. Maybe she'd let him win a few times so he'd be more amenable to it.

Then it all went to Tash's hell.

Morgan had her back to the door and was studying her cards – her odds of a run in suit were three to five – when everyone at the table was pushing away to stand up.

_Oh no._

Morgan scrambled up a step behind everyone else and had to clutch the table to right herself. Her chair started rocking and only Sharra's quick reflexes kept the thing from toppling over with a mighty crash.

"Excuse me, Lord Ker?"

Morgan turned around to face the intruder as Lord Ker said, "King Edmund! To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Good evening, ladies, gentlemen." Jalur had come too, and Jina. Morgan's heart sank and started yammering in her stomach.

Everyone did the appropriate murmured greetings, bows and curtseys. Morgan managed a bob without falling.

"I apologize for removing one of your players, but I wish to speak to AD Morgan."

Morgan managed a nod and picked up her ledger from the table. She was a little annoyed as she had a good hand that could be an even better one, but there was a solution to that.

"Kangee? Harah? Do you two want to take my place at the table?"

"What's in it for us?" Kangee asked as Harah flapped down to the chair.

"Thirty percent or more hair," Morgan said.

"Forty and two hairs," Harah countered.

Morgan would have argued more, but she knew the others would get impatient. "Just watch out for them," she told Lord Ker. "Crows will cheat."

Harold gestured and they walked together out of the parlour. She heard the Crows arguing over how they would pick up their cards without showing their "wing" to the other players.

He shut the door and they stood awkwardly and silently in the hallway. A wall sconce flickered and gave them a cheery light. Morgan looked over Harold's shoulder to admire how the veins of silver and red in the stone caught and reflected the light.

"Where would you like to go, Banker Morgan? Is there somewhere private where you would also feel at ease?" She could tell he was anxious and a little annoyed but when he talked, it was very solicitous.

"It doesn't matter," she told him.

"There is a sitting room between my and Lucy's rooms. We might go there, though my sister is still in the Great Hall. Would you prefer her to join us? She said she would if you wished more company that Jalur and Jina."

She shook her head and felt the bow Jezebel had made for her bounce on the braid hanging down her back. Harold was acting very strangely talking this way, as if she was afraid of him. "That's fine."

It was so strange to walk silently, side by side, through the Anvard halls. He didn't even take her arm, as he had the other ladies. She could hear the music and laughter from the Great Hall. Servants, seeing King Edmund, backed up to the walls and curtsied or bowed.

They reached the rooms and Jalur pushed his way in, sensing for threats as a Guard always did. The Tiger then retreated to a dark corner. Jina trotted in after and sat in another corner. Harold lit two lamps and then turned to face her. "We may leave the door open if you prefer, Banker Morgan?"

"That's not very private." Morgan knew she'd not been herself, but Harold was very odd. "But isn't now a bad time? Shouldn't you be in the Great Hall? The entertainment? There…"

"Is nothing I want more than to speak with you. Regardless of the outcome of our discussion, for better or for ill, I have no desire to be elsewhere when you are here and there is this to resolve. If we resolve it amicably, I wish to be with you. If we part as nothing but client and Banker, I will have no wish to be with others."

This was bad. So bad. He was saying all the wrong things. _Never invest in anything that eats. Remember what the cat said._

As he shut the door, she sat on the edge of the couch in the room and opened her ledger.

"I did not intend this to be business and I think a written record inadvisable," Harold said as she removed the sheets.

"I have notes. I didn't think we'd have anything to say but if you did have something to say, I needed to be prepared."

Her notes were wedged in with a tally of historical Lone Island tributes and her investigation of the harbourmaster bribes which she really should finish. It had all declined this past season which was to be expected and she needed to decide on whether remediation or punishment was in order …

"Morgan?"

"Sorry, just thinking about the report I owe you on the harbour syndicates. It's been fascinating…"

"Perhaps later?"

She nodded. "Sorry," and shuffled the notes in her lap.

Harold just stood there, looking at her. When he spoke it all sounded strange and so serious. "I would wish to be here just as any man but unavoidably I am also your sovereign. There is inherent inequality. I promise to keep you no longer than necessary to learn your will. If you become unhappy or uncomfortable, you must say so. Jina, Jalur, please, if you sense Morgan feels coerced in any way, speak if she cannot."

Jalur growled; Jina said simply, "Of course, your Majesty."

She was too shocked to object as he brutally continued. "You may tell me _no_, Morgan, and I give you my word," and he solemnly held up his ring, "and you know what my word means to me, that you should fear no reprisal."

Is _that_ what he thought? This was horrible. It was making him sound coercive, like some sort of brute. That she was afraid of him. "I can speak my mind, Harold, just fine. If I don't like something, I'll tell you."

"Yes, you can, but you often withhold information as well. You can become mute when matters go beyond your comfortable expertise and you assume that there is information I do not need to hear even if it is important to you. If you never had difficulty, you wouldn't need notes."

_Well there was that. _

There was a big armchair and he tried moving it closer to the couch, but it didn't budge. Giving up, he impatiently jerked a footstool over towards where she was and sat on it. It was too little and he was too big and he looked very funny on it.

"You can sit here," she said stiffly, moving over on the couch.

"No. So, please, tell me about what you have written." He eyed the paper in her lap. "It seems you have a great deal. Was it all so awful?"

"Yes. No. I had a lot to say. And I wrote it in Rat and Crow."

His mouth twitched again into a softer, fond smile. "Of course you did."

She looked away, down at her notes. All her worries about Alan and that Narnia didn't have a succession plan in place so all their investments could go straight to Tash if they didn't do something because Harold might leave the same way he came. And there were conflicts of interest and appearances of impropriety and preferential treatment that Queen Susan saw and that's why she didn't approve of her or them, and that Harold was thinking strategically, which she really did approve of, and knew it was better if she took the Meryl Directorship and Pierce took Linch and Maeve took Stanleh and they molded it all into something strong and good for Narnia. She was much better for Narnia in the Lone Islands. He was respecting her life's work, her training, and her choices. And the choices her father and others had made for her.

All that, all those things that mitigated and explained it and what had happened and why, Morgan agreed with them all. It all made perfect sense. It was all completely rational and logical. But still there was one thing that had cut her, deeply, and made her cry. That she could not explain or justify or rationalize. There was no explanation for it that made sense as politics, finance, autonomy or respect.

She'd even given it a name in Rat and Crow. It was a name for something nasty and dangerous and that she didn't like at all. She called it _snake_ and it appeared over and over in her notes as she had tried over the months to understand why Harold had acted as he had.

"Seth," she finally said.

"Seth Stanleh?" Harold repeated. He sounded so confused. "What about him?"

"Once you accused him at Conclave that was the last I saw of you. You spent all your time with Seth. Someone who tried to murder people or at least frame someone else for it. He tried to murder me. He was the only one you cared about."

As she knew he would, Harold flared with anger at her accusation. "That is hardly fair, Morgan. He had committed grave crimes which I had to judge. I gave you the pin before we parted. We talked of the code revisions, I suggested you come to Narnia but you said you had to remain to in Narrowhaven. We…"

She knew she was starting to cry again and angrily wiped away the tears. "Seth," she repeated, interrupting him. "Everything was about Seth. That he would go with you. Whether he would see Maeve before you took him. I know you had duties, Harold. Remember? I'm one of those duties; you delegate to me. But I also know that you spent all your time with him. You were more worried about him leaving Maeve than you were about leaving me."

Harold sat on the little stool and stared at her.

"It all sounds so petty now but it hurt and I didn't understand why."

She looked down at the papers and the code written there was all blurry. It didn't matter. She had memorised the notes. Morgan raised her head and jutted out her chin. She would not back down from this. He wanted her to speak her mind so she would. "I still do not understand why. I know that you had to deal with him in your capacity as judge, but that makes the personal interest even stranger. You were so interested in everything about him and talking to him and talking and…"

She sniffled. Morgan thought she looked really ugly when she cried. "And you didn't care about me at all. Or, well no, I know that's not fair, as you say. You cared about Seth more than you cared about me."

Harold bowed his head over his hands. It was so quiet she could hear Jalur's heavy wuffling and the music from the Great Hall.

Finally he pulled his eyes up. "Jina! Jalur! Please leave us alone. You may guard but you are not to listen. This is between Morgan and I."

His voice was so firm and royal, so obviously a command, that Jalur and Jina immediately stood and went to the door.

But...

"Sorry, but I don't agree, Harold. I have more problems when Jina isn't with me and I think you do too. If I'd let her help when you left…"

"No, Morgan." He said it with so much conviction, Morgan knew he wasn't moving on it. She could stay if she wanted to know what he was going to say, or she could leave with Jalur and Jina.

"Then don't blame me if I don't say something just the way you like or if have to come back and correct myself, or…"

"I understand, Morgan. We will take as long as we need and I suspect by the end that it is you who will walk out never to return."

Breaking all protocol, he opened the door for Jina and Jalur and, as they went out of the room, shut it behind them. He didn't lock it but Archenland doors had knobs and Jina and Jalur wouldn't have an easy time getting in. Expressing his dissatisfaction with the situation, Jalur growled on the other side of the door.

"Peace, Jalur," Harold called out. He returned to his little stool and pulled it very close to her. He sat and let out a deep sigh.

Again the silence went on a really long time while he stared at his hands.

"I recognize that it is a danger for us to muddle through an important dialogue without our interpreters, but what I will tell you is not for their ears. Or anyone else's." Again there was a long, awkward silence.

Harold was looking so miserable, she might have relented, but now Morgan really wanted to know what was so awful that it could explain his behavior to Seth and make him think she would walk away from him after hearing it.

"What?"

Another deep breath and he ran his hand over his face. "Please let me explain in my own way, in my own time, Morgan. I've not discussed this in over ten years and even then it was only with Aslan and with Merle, my first Guard. You are the first person I have ever revealed this to."

Over ten years? So Harold was talking about something from when he was a child? "Not even Jalur? Or your brother? Lucy? Queen Susan?"

He shook his head and his voice dropped so low she had to lean forward. "Aslan said there was no need to discuss the past and so we did not."

Morgan hated how the swirling pattern in the carpet drew her in. She knew the looms it had come from; they were in the same… _Stop_. She pulled her focus back to Harold. She couldn't look him straight in the eye, but she wanted to see him. Had to see him. As much as he had hurt her, she owed him what attention she could give. "Harold, what happened?" Finally, when he still didn't speak, she asked softly, "Edmund?"

"I am surprised that no one has said anything to you, especially after I left. There are not that many who know the full story but some do. Tumnus never told you? Or Sallowpad? Not even Lucy?" He looked up and stared at her, tapping his fingers nervously on his knees.

"I don't talk about you with anyone else," Morgan said stiffly. Tumnus had been too busy fighting with Peridan and Lucy was sympathetic but also very clear that if there was a problem, it was for Morgan herself to resolve. Lucy was not going to be in the middle and Morgan was not going to complain about Harold to his own sister. She knew how she felt when Maeve complained about Pierce. Pierce wasn't perfect (_and really Maeve? Maeve Stanleh?_) but she wasn't going to let his lover criticise her brother.

"No?"

"No," Morgan repeated.

"So…"

"So," Morgan repeated.

He took a deep breath and said very quietly, "I was a traitor. Once."

Morgan almost laughed, it was so absurd. It was so absurd, it made her angry.

She started to stand up from the couch, disgusted. So much anticipation? "This is ridiculous," she snapped. "What rot. If you're going to lie…"

"It's not a lie," Harold said, grabbing her hands in his. "Please don't go, yet. I don't want Jalur or Jina to overhear." Gently, he pulled her back down to the sofa.

She reluctantly sat at the edge of the seat. "What would they hear? Something so ridiculous no one could credit it? Harold, if you don't want to tell me, fine. I wanted to hear about Seth and you're spouting nonsense."

He shook his head. "I suppose I should be flattered that you can't even think that I could be such a rotter. But I was, Morgan. When we first came to Narnia, I betrayed them all, my family, the Narnians, everyone, and I joined Jadis."

She stared at him, dumbfounded, and he repeated, "I came to Narnia, I joined with the White Witch, and I was a traitor."

"I don't believe it. You were _a child_. You were so young, you barely remember where you came from. How could you possibly call yourself a traitor?"

"Yes, I was young, but it is no excuse for an act knowingly and willfully done. I betrayed my own brother and sisters for Jadis' promise of power."

She stared at their still joined hands, trying to hear what he was saying, trying to comprehend the sincerity of it, the enormity. Harold had purple-black ink stains all over his fingers and hands. What he said made no sense at all. Except…

"You said that you once resented Peter, terribly. On Two Hearts Day. Is this what you meant?"

"Yes." He gently rubbed her knuckles with his thumbs. "It is not an excuse, but it does explain partly why I was so foolish then. It is difficult now to even remember having anger and envy so strong that they drove me to do such a monstrous thing to my family. It was my attempt at revenge, I suppose."

And then she finally saw._ Oh. _

"Like what Seth did."

He nodded. "Exactly as Seth did. There was even, oddly enough, the similar element of rahat in both cases. Poisoned in Narrowhaven…" Harold hesitated, looked a little ill, and then said, "The Witch's sweet was very similar but with a different sort of poison, an enchantment."

She had even wondered how Harold had known something was wrong when Pierce had unwrapped the block of confectionery at the breakfast table. Harold had reacted to its wrongness even before Willa had.

"So no rahat at Two Hearts Day?" she said.

Harold shook his head and smiled, a little. "Please, no."

They sat together, facing each other, holding hands, and Morgan ran through all that had seemed so inexplicable before.

"At Conclave, you told Seth that you believed in redemption and wanted to show him. You said all that because of what you had done?"

"I had to try to help him, Morgan. Everyone wanted him to die, either executed or to take his own life. As the one charged with his protection and adjudication of his crimes, I could not allow that."

"You did more than that though, Harold."

He nodded. "Yes. I wanted to help him heal and repair the breach with the sister he betrayed. I am not Aslan, but I carry his charge. I received a great gift and I must return it in kind."

It explained so much and, yes, she could understand. Or most of it.

"You should have told me, Harold. After criticising me for hiding things, you did the same."

"I know. It is very uncomfortable now, in hindsight. I apologize for not taking you into my confidence sooner, but…"

He trailed off and stared again at their joined hands.

"You'd never told anyone else before."

"And it is such a horrible thing. You once said something very like. That if I knew your truths, I would leave. We are even I suppose, though nothing of your past is so terrible."

"No," Morgan had to admit. "I did once try to lie about an error in my sums. Maeve caught me and I never …" She managed to swallow the rest of the blurting. "It doesn't matter." It was not the same at all and she shouldn't cheapen his disclosure by trying to best it in so stupid a fashion.

"So this is the truth, Morgan." Harold squeezed her hands and spoke ever so gently. "If you cannot accept this in me, we are irreconcilable and we must truly part and be but client and Banker."

Morgan snorted at his obtuseness and rubbed his blackened hands with her fingers. They were so splotched and patterned. "Really, Harold, you were only a child."

"Age is no defence here."

She shrugged. "Maybe, but I blame Aslan more than you for putting you into that situation in the first instance – he hauls you here in the middle of the winter from wherever and the first thing that happens is you fall in with the Witch. That's terrible planning on his part and worse judgment."

"You will take my part and scold Aslan?" Harold sounded both amused and appalled.

"For you, yes!" It all made so much more sense. Harold made so much more sense. He had once even explained how he could admire her and the Crows despite their poor shared manners. He didn't overlook the flaws, but he knew that even things that were very flawed could be very good too.

If she tried to put it into words, she would get it wrong, but Morgan knew she had to try. "Harold, I'm not going to walk away because of what you did as a child."

"Morgan, I appreciate your words, but do not overlook it, either. I..."

"Oh shut up, would you?" she snapped. "Whatever you think, what _I_ see is how you'll even try to help someone like Seth who doesn't deserve a moment of your mercy because you think everyone should have the same opportunity you did. It shows greatness, Harold, it really does. Greater than magnificent or valiant, or gentle, and don't argue with me about it, because it is."

In the low light of the room, it was hard to tell but she thought he blushed a little. "Thank you for your trust, Morgan."

She looked down again at their conjoined hands. "Why _are_ your hands so black?"

The words spilled out. She couldn't help it.

He stared down at them and then laughed. "For a moment I thought you were being horribly metaphorical. In fact, these stains are most noble scars earned in pursuit of my lady's favour."

Morgan pulled back, feeling like she had been dealt a terrible, physical blow. "What lady? Who?"

He leaned forward on the stool and touched her face. "You, of course, Not-A-Lady Banker Morgan."

_Oh._

"Me?"

"A gift, for the Two Hearts Day I missed." He rose from the stool. "I have been wanting to give this to you for days, but you insisted upon hiding from me."

Harold crossed the room, removed a small box from a bookshelf and brought it back. This time he sat next to her on the couch and put the box between them.

Morgan eagerly lifted the lid. She did love presents. Inside, nestled in straw, were heavy, stoppered bottles.

"Inkwells?"

"Yes, but with not just any ink, Banker Morgan. I brewed it myself, with the help of the very patient and even more ink spattered Mrs. Furner. With her aid, I created an ink that writes well but does not stain. You can rinse it clean with water and can even rub out your small errors on parchment with wax, pumice, or gum."

Morgan felt her lip trembling as she stared at the beautiful bottles. "For me? You made ink that doesn't leave spots? For me? Yourself?"

"I could find a garden of pollinating flowers if you prefer…"

She shook her head so vigorously, Jezebel's green bow slid off her braid and landed in the box.

"You are making it really hard for me to stay away, Harold."

"I was hoping to make it easier for you to stay, Morgan."

ooOOoo

After the last chapter of dysfunctionality and frustration, my LJ commenters strongly expressed their desire for Harold and Morgan to "get a clue." We assume from _Acceptance of the Terms_ and the glimpses in _Apostolic Way_ that there were pleasant times for them that are remembered fondly. So, here ya go with some unabashedly, sappy romance (for them, anyway). A huge thanks to the _Harold and Morgan_ readers who are interested in how they get from Point A to Point Z.

Next up, Harold and Morgan on a Road Trip


	14. Chapter 14 Assumption of Risk

Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance  
Chapter 14: Assumption of Risk

* * *

In which many doors open and shut and assumptions are made and you know what they say about them.

When we last left Harold and Morgan, Harold had decided to court Morgan. Morgan avoided him. Harold has now presented Morgan with a spectacular gift, if you are AD Morgan of Linch, of erasable, washable ink.

* * *

Given how ill it had all begun, with Morgan avoiding him at every turn, Edmund was not expecting anything good to come of the evening. The best he hoped for was some sort of intellectual understanding with her going forward, which was necessary but certainly not what he had sought when he set out for Archenland.

That expectation had sunk further still with now revealing just how wretchedly horrible he had been once been. Having had to chase her down and practically corner her, Edmund expected Morgan to run out in disgust.

Instead, she was staring at the wooden box in her lap containing the bottles of ink he had brewed for her.

"You are making it really hard for me to stay away, Harold," Morgan said.

"I was hoping to make it easier for you to stay, Morgan."

"For how long?"

"I don't know," Edmund admitted. He did know he had to provide a better answer. "I have realized these last months apart that when the winds bring you here, I want you with me."

"It is too quiet in there," Jalur's voice suddenly interrupted from the other side of the heavy, and shut, door. "King Edmund, Banker Morgan, please confirm that you are both alive, or I shall summon a Centaur to kick the door in."

"I told you, they are fine," Jina said loudly, sounding very testy.

"We are both quite alive!" Edmund called. He was not ready for the scrutiny and sympathy of the sensitive Narnians. Once Morgan left, he would not bother with evening courtesies to Lune and would just find some Dwarfs, some Lightning, and get drunk.

"Banker Morgan?" Jalur asked.

"I'm fine!" Morgan called. "Well, no, I'm not fine! I am still alive!"

"See?" Jina growled. "I told you!"

"Why are you not fine?" Jalur pressed. "Should we fetch someone? A physician? Jina? Morgan says she is not fine."

"Leave them be!" Jina snapped.

"Of course, should we wish for privacy, I do not recommend Narnia," Edmund said. In a whisper, he added, "Jalur has been especially protective since I returned from Narrowhaven. He always worries I've been abducted by Otters or have fallen down a well."

Morgan blew out a breath that stirred the straw packaging in the box. "Jalur, I am fine!"

"I believe you are lying and are under duress," Jalur said. "Something is wrong. King Edmund? Are you both are being held hostage and forced to speak lies? I knew we should not have permitted the Otter to accompany us. He is behind this evil. Prepare to die, Otter." There was another growl and the door creaked, very much the sound to be expected as a very large carnivore pressed his weight against it. There were scratches, the noises made by teeth and claws on metal, which meant Jalur was trying to manipulate the door knob.

Edmund jumped up from the sofa before real damage to Lune's castle was done, strode to the door and threw it open. Jalur and Jina both tumbled into the room in a disordered pile of brown, black, white, and golden hair. Tiger and Hound rolled apart and sprang to their feet, teeth bared, and growling at each other.

"You were both trying to eavesdrop," Edmund accused. He would be angry if they didn't both look so comical. Jalur and Jina both shook themselves off, sending fur into the air. "And for nothing, see? Morgan is here. She is fine. I am fine. We have not been savaged by Otters, sharks, or snakes or been abducted by pirates."

"You both make terrible Rats," Morgan said, moving the box of inkwells, very carefully, from her lap to the couch. She was at least smiling at the kerfuffle.

Edmund pushed his irritation at his Guards aside. He and Morgan needed to come to some conclusion, but it would not be resolved this evening with their over-curious audience. It was time for Morgan to return to her card game and he would crawl into a cask of Lightning.

Morgan restlessly twisted between her fingers the green bow Jezebel the Beaver had given her. When Morgan had whipped her head around for some vehement disagreement or another, her braid had hit him the face and the bow had fallen off. As this sort of thing had happened often during their time together, he had become adept at helping Morgan with her ties, bows, and laces.

"Would you like me tie that back on for you?"

"Maybe in the morning," Morgan said.

Imagination, intellect, body, and mouth froze. Unfortunately, frustrated and defeated imagination recovered first. "Whaaa?"

Morgan put her fingers to her right ear and began removing the earring lodged there. All of him knew what _that_ meant.

"I said, '_maybe in the morning_.'" She removed the other earring and set them both in the box with the ink.

Flapping of Crow wings interrupted the witty and salacious response his imagination would have mustered and the gracious query he should have posed. Kangee and Harah flew into the room. They were carrying coins in their beaks and claws and so could neither talk nor land at first. Then, coins were falling to the floor as the Birds landed on chair backs and chased down their winnings as they rolled away under furniture, under Jalur and Jina, and behind curtains. The Crows were jabbering about their owed payment in Morgan's hair, she joined them on the floor to scrabble about for their shared earnings from the card game, and Jina and Jalur were trying to explain how they really had not been violating his royal order for privacy.

His imagination was all for throwing the lot of them out, throwing Morgan over his shoulder and making for his bedroom that was behind the far door and only steps away. His intellect was urging patience recognizing nothing would occur without an accounting of the card game first. So Edmund did the sensible thing and got on his hands and knees to crawl under the table to locate the missing coins.

"I'm going to demand a cut of the winnings," he said, igniting another argument and vociferous complaint from the three Crows in the room.

"You missed one!" Kangee croaked. "In the corner!"

Edmund banged his head coming up, coins in fist.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Harold!"

He declined her offer of assistance, which would surely result in more bashing and climbed to his feet unaided. They'd both end up in the physician's office otherwise.

"Those are our winnings!" Harah complained as he tossed their coins on to the table. "Treat them with respect!"

"Oh quiet, you!" Morgan said and tilted her head toward Kangee. "Take another hair and give us some peace. And I saw you eyeing my earrings, Harah. If you steal them, you won't get a Shiny from either of us for a month."

His intellect and imagination both liked the word _us_ very much. But for a _month_? _Only a month_? His intellect hoped it was only a turn of phrase even as his imagination complained of the short duration. How long _might_ this last? He pushed it aside. No relevant. They would make the most of the time they had. "We shall make it a two-month penalty," he told the Crows, firmly reminding his imagination that two months was better than nothing at all.

"And now you must excuse us!" Morgan cried, seizing his hand and pulling him toward the bedroom.

"What?" Harah asked. "Why?"

"Where are you going?" Jalur demanded, rising to his feet.

"Mating," Jina said. "They are going to mate."

Jalur sank back down, grumbling. "Why do you always make this so complicated?"

"You owe me a shiny, Harah!" Kangee croaked jubilantly. "I won! I won! I knew Banker Morgan would like King Edmund's preened feathers when he went courting!"

It was embarrassing to be so exposed, but Morgan laughed. "I _knew_ you were looking especially handsome!" Unfortunately, Morgan's enthusiasm was ahead of the practical reality.

"This will not do, Morgan. We cannot," Edmund said, resisting and pulling back just as she fumbled for the bedroom doorknob.

Her look was the one he'd seen her turn on Director Stanleh – furious. And beneath that – and he did not need Jina to tell him so – deep hurt.

"Oh?" Morgan said acidly. "Planning on having one of the ladies from dinner in your room?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." He could have teased her further, but Morgan was distressed and everything was clamoring for a resolution. "This door, however, leads to _Lucy's_ bedroom," he confided, finally putting an arm around his lover and bringing her to his side, where she belonged. "_My_ room is on the other side."

ooOOoo

It was too desperate and too quick, too much and too little, in a strange place and a strange bed. It did not feel as it had and Edmund did not think it was merely as compared to fond, idealized memories of before. Too much hung unsaid between them in the dark.

Edmund was also conscious of the fact that this lovers' talk was not something he excelled at.

There was movement in the next room and sounds of voices speaking. Lucy must have returned. Jalur and Jina would explain, somehow. Tiger and Hound would articulate it better than he and Morgan could.

"Are you…" Morgan began tentatively, speaking in his ear.

"Fine," he replied.

"What are you thinking about?"

"How badly I usually manage this," he admitted. Edmund forced the words he had shied from using even a month ago, before he had understood how close he had come to losing something he had become very accustomed to. "Even when I want it to continue, my efforts are usually met with tears, smashed pottery, and thrown boots."

"And a lover calling you ass or brute."

"Yes."

Morgan shifted away in the bed. He supposed it was progress that he could tell something bothered her. They had had variations on this discussion before so he wasn't sure why it seemed to vex Morgan now.

He reached across the divide and drew her close again. "See?" he said. "I told you I manage this poorly. You must speak, Morgan. I can't know your mind otherwise."

"It's nothing."

"Jina would growl at you for saying so."

"Probably."

He waited and let Morgan collect her racing thoughts.

"I was just wondering…"

"Yes?"

The blurting followed. "Have you been with anyone else? Since you left Narrowhaven?"

He could lie. It would be so easy to lie. But he was not sure the truth was any better for what it portended.

"Once," he admittedly, ruefully. "Leszi trounced me in practice and insisted my recovery hinged upon a drunken night with his fellows and lying with a partner. In my highly compromised state, I couldn't see to refuse a very persistent Naiad, which I soon and thoroughly regretted."

She stirred against his chest. "A Naiad? That must be…"

"Very wet, and not in an enjoyable way."

Morgan laughed.

He weighed the consequences and decided he wanted to know. "And you?"

She harrumphed. "You lived at Linch House. Who? Seth was the only one before."

_Seth Stanleh._

Edmund had suspected as much from some careless and boastful talk of Seth's when the men had all gone out together to haunt the taverns and smoke parlours of the lower town of Narrowhaven. He had endured drunken ribbing when the conversation had turned to partners, couplings, and conquests. _Is it true, what we hear of the North?_ _Out of doors?_ _With trees? Things with hooves?_ Among the intellectual Bankers of the Lone Islands, the rumors of Narnia were exotic and decadent.

And so very complicated.

There would come a time when, for Morgan, there certainly would be another. And then he would have to determine if a King of Narnia would lie with another man's wife. It was commonplace in the politics of other courts. It was not something he had thought he would ever do himself. For the first time, Edmund was feeling real sympathy for what might drive such actions – being reconciled to the politics of a convenient marriage for power, and finding your pleasure and companionship elsewhere.

"Has there been any further movement regarding your taking Meryl? The agreement with Alan?"

"No," Morgan replied with a sigh. "We've all been too busy with the Code revisions and the audit."

"Constance is probably doing everything she can to delay it as well."

"She is not the only one," Morgan said. She rolled away and off the bed. She teetered a little, gained her feet and wandered toward the curtained window. There was only a single candle flickering across the room. Morgan was lost in the shadows.

"You do not have to marry Alan, Morgan."

"Of course I do not, sir." The voice that came out of the dark was one Harold the Clerk had heard often, confident, a little arrogant, insightful, and sound. "You ignore that Narnia is in a position to consolidate its financial power and influence for generations to come. Linch can prepare an options analysis but all those options will recommend me as the Head of one of the Houses – if not Meryl then Stanleh or even Sterns which is long overdue for an audit you could order under the revised Code."

"I understand, but Narnia is not driven solely by profit, Banker Morgan."

"I do not make this recommendation only to make Narnia wealthier. Bringing the Lone Island Houses under closer Narnia control makes you more secure. It is in Narnia's best interests to have me there, sir."

Who was she trying to convince? "King, remember? My brother is the Emperor of your Lone Islands. We may determine what is in our own best interests, Banker Morgan."

"You are the King of Narnia, sir, not the Tisroc of Calormen. What you wish to do may be very different from what is best for your country."

"Perhaps. But perhaps not."

She said nothing for a long time. When she spoke, her voice sounded smaller and uncertain. "Do you really believe that? Do you really think that could be true?"

"Yes, I do. So, what do you wish, Banker Morgan?"

She pulled back the curtain and looked outside. "There is work I have to do," she finally said. "Tasks to finish. Here."

Was she expecting him to forbid it? Or did Morgan want the clarity of an order? "And Narnia needs you as well, Banker Morgan."

Morgan probably misunderstood but he chose to not correct her when she returned to his bed.

ooOOoo

Edmund added sugar to his tea and stirred it, plotting his strategy. He poured a half cup of coffee for Morgan and nudged it gently into her hand.

"Thanks," she muttered, taking a deep drink then returning to the ledger spread out on the breakfast table in the common area of the rooms he shared with Lucy.

They had not seen Lucy yet that morning and he had dismissed the Archen servants as soon as they had set out the meal. The castle's gossip mill would already be churning and he wanted to leave Anvard as quickly as possible. It was time to dangle the Shiny in front of the Crow.

"We have received the final reports from the working group on the recommended Code revisions and the Stanleh audit."

Morgan head shot up from where she had been ignoring her breakfast to scribble margin notes in a guild ledger. "You did?"

Her look turned sharper. "Are you saying this so that I have to come back with you?"

"I was not going to carry documents of such sensitivity across the roads and wilds when all you have to do is return with me," Edmund replied.

"How many are from Maeve?"

"At least half of them." That was a reasonable estimate. Probably.

"Oh." Her look turned a little vacant, which meant she was completing in her head whatever calculation he had interrupted. Morgan's ability to hold on to a sum regardless of the distraction was remarkable. She would never say, as any other person (or Crow, Dwarf, or Centaur would), "Let me finish this problem first." Morgan always knew where she was and could return to it after any interruption.

She bent again to her ledger and wrote something down.

He offered the second Shiny.

"The reports are all waiting for you in your office."

"Office?" Morgan said, with the barest scoff. "You mean that rickety desk in the Library?"

"No, I mean your own office. Peter ordered a space be made for you, remember? Before we left for Narrowhaven last year?"

"I remember the storeroom off the Great Hall and a door with a lock."

"It is nothing of the sort," Edmund retorted. "Mrs. Furner and Mr. Hoberry had a work crew in to convert a parlour on the main floor while we were in the Lone Islands."

Morgan deliberately put a marker in her ledger and closed it. She looked up, eyes wider. "Really? My own place? Not just a counting room? Or a closet?"

"I am thoroughly envious of it. The office is very elegant and large, with excellent lighting, and windows on three sides."

"Which I will have to keep shut to avoid the pollen," she grumbled, finishing her coffee and setting it down with a clank on the saucer.

"You are trying to not be pleased," he chided. "As the windows face east and look out over the beach and the sea, allergies should not be a problem. You won't be able to see your home, but you can at least face it."

"Oh. That was very nice of them." She sniffed.

"The Dwarfs made a desk and chair for you. Your desk has more drawers than my library desk and your chair is very comfortable," Edmund said feelingly. Your strong box is larger than mine and it has _shelves_."

"You sat in _my_ chair?"

"I did! It's a very fine chair."

"And _my_ strong box, did you compare the volume or just the outer dimensions?"

"Yours exceeded mine on all parameters. As King I'm well within my rights to confiscate office, chair, strong box, and desk for myself. But Mrs. Furner wouldn't let me."

"Poor King," Morgan murmured sadly. "_Such injustice_. And tell me again. Has an Otter ever taken an orange over a mountain pass _for you_?"

"Does throwing dead fish bits at my head count?"

She laughed. "These are all excellent incentives for returning to Narnia, sir. I'm still holding out for more."

"I have been trying to find volume two!" Edmund feigned a mock whinge. The next book in the series of illustrated Calormene erotic poetry and veritable how-to manual had proven impossible to locate.

"We have not exhausted all of volume one," Morgan reminded him. "Perhaps we could ask the Dwarfs to construct the necessary apparatus for illustration twelve?"

The table, covered with ledger, coffee, tea, fruit, honeyed rolls, and eggs, was between them. His imagination was all for clearing off the surface and undertaking the necessary preconditions to performance of illustration twelve. The rest of him was too happy with the lighter mood to care. Edmund reached across the table, took her hand in his and kissed her palm.

"I will let _you_ try to describe the specifications to our Master Smith."

He was worried when Morgan hurriedly removed her hand from his grasp. Had he said something wrong? What was wrong?

She opened her ledger and turned it so he could see the page.

"I tried to draft a schematic of the apparatus!" Morgan looked down at her drawing and frowned. "It may not be quite to scale."

Her drawing was scaled to Giants, not Humans, though it was a _highly_ flattering comparison. His intellect clamped a hand over his mouth to keep his imagination from sharing the observation, accepting the compliment, and seeking her assistance in confirming the measurements. All of him agreed instead to lean over the table and kiss her on the cheek. "You are incredible."

The words and sentiment felt strange. Had he ever said anything like that to Morgan before? He remembered very clearly the things she had said to him, each time, about him, when and where she had said them, and how he was magnificent, too, in his own way, and was not father, brother, or Peter. She had even said he was handsome last night. Edmund swallowed and nervously added, "You are brilliant and beautiful, Morgan, and I missed you very much."

He knew he was blushing and could feel the heat of her blush more than see it under her dark skin.

There was a growling complaint from the corner. "Oh do be quiet, Jalur," Jina said. Her tail thumped against the stone floor.

"I prefer the bickering," Jalur said.

"Continue criticism of your liege and his…" Edmund stumbled, recovered and continued, "and his Banker, and we will not look for dumb otters today."

"For the prospect of biting into the filthy vermin, I shall tolerate your excessive sentiment," Jalur replied.

Morgan did not look at him; her eyes always glided past his own. "Thank you." She raised her fingers to his brow, pushing the hair away; it felt very tender and intimate. "Is my strong box really bigger than yours?"

"I reserve my sworn oaths for serious matters of duty and state, Banker Morgan."

"It's a serious matter _for me_, _sir_."

"Do you really think I would risk your wrath by lying about something so easily confirmed with measuring cords?"

"True. You value future performance of illustration twelve too highly."

Edmund wrapped his fingers gently around the back of her neck and brought Morgan's face closer to his own. "I value you for more even than performance of illustration twelve. Please do not doubt that." His imagination was outraged and prepared to argue the counterpoint but his intellect beat the miscreant back down with a bouquet of roses and lilies from a Narrowhaven greenhouse in winter.

Her brown eyes darted to his and then away; her smile and the way she leaned into him were the better guides. Intellectually he knew that Morgan was entitled to more from him than even what illustrated Calormene text could convey. His imagination seized the moment as opportune for another attempt at illustration twelve.

Pounding feet, the door thrown open, and then "EWWW! KISSING?" interrupted what had heretofore been that elusive thing known as a romantic moment.

They both rocked back into their chairs with sighs.

"Good morning, Prince Corin."

The boy lurched toward the table and Lucy ran into the room after him, Briony with her.

"I won, Lucy!" Corin cried and thrust a dirty hand out for a honeyed bun on the table. Edmund supposed they should make him wash first, but this wasn't the banquet hall.

"Good morning, well, afternoon now, I suppose," Lucy said. She went around the table, kissed them both, and flopped into a chair at the table.

If his sister was going to remark upon the changed circumstance, she would wait until the boy – Corin was what, 7 now? 8? – was no longer with them. Edmund, though, could sense her happiness in her warm smile that included both of them.

"What have the two of you been doing all morning?" Edmund asked. "Terrorizing the ladies of the Court? Raising an army? Plotting acts of piracy?"

Corin shook his head but the best he could manage with a mouthful of bun was, "Mmmfff arwwwwfcchh."

"A little swordplay. And archery," Lucy said. "Corin is doing very well."

"Lil… swot btttt."

"If you took smaller bites you would be able to talk," Lucy said.

Practice hearing Rats speak with food in their mouths had trained him well. "I believe Corin said that he likes sword practice better?"

The boy nodded, took an enormous gulp, and sputtered, "I do, King Edmund!"

"Perhaps this summer you might spend a ten-day at Cair Paravel? We could teach you Narnian swordsmanship. Together, you, Queen Lucy and I might beat the High King to a bloody pulp?"

Corin was so excited he started choking on the second bun he snatched from the plate.

Morgan, who had been ignoring all the armament talk, as she would, suddenly looked up from her ledger. "Did you do all your sums, Corin?"

The room went very quiet with only the sounds of tails thumping on stone, Corin's earnest chewing, and Jalur's heavy breathing.

Edmund had not known that Morgan was instructing the Crown Prince.

"He said he did, Morgan," Lucy put in with a frown at Corin. "That was why we went to the training grounds." Lucy's pointed look was devastating. Disappointing her was a terrible thing indeed.

"Corin?"

He gulped. "Well….. I _did_ them."

"Ahhh," Morgan said nodding. "That was very responsible of you." Edmund had noticed before that she was able to keep better eye contact with Beasts and Birds and now, here, with children as well. "And if you were in a battle with four Giants and you had twelve arrows, how many arrows could you shoot at each Giant?"

Corin began counting on his fingers. "Three?" he finally said in a small, uncertain voice.

"Excellent!" Morgan cried. "Would three arrows be enough to kill a Giant do you suppose?"

She was directing the question to Corin, not to the two people who would know the answer.

"I suppose it depends on where you hit the Giant," Corin said.

Morgan nodded seriously. "Maybe one arrow in one eye, one arrow in the other eye." She made motions as if driving something into each eye. Corin was enthralled and Edmund suddenly realized that whatever other shortcomings Bankers might have, they surely knew how to teach sums to the next generation.

"Where do you suppose the third arrow should go?" Morgan asked her student.

"Mouth or ear!" Corin announced. "Right to the brain."

"_Is_ a Giant's brain is in his head?" Morgan asked. "What if it is in his foot? Or his arm?"

"Head," Lucy and Corin both said.

"So the third arrow goes in the ear or the mouth!" Morgan stuck a finger in her own ear and pulled a face that made Corin laugh hard enough for some bun to go spewing out. They were, fortunately, well accustomed to such things at this point.

"Since you've been out all morning, do you think you can concentrate for a little while on your maths? We didn't do anything yesterday and your father will be expecting some progress by week's end."

Corin looked rebellious until Lucy added, "I need to discuss some very boring things with my brother, Corin. After your lesson, we shall practice shooting arrows while you are riding your pony. Would you like that?"

The exclamation was so enthusiastic, Corin would probably do abysmally at his work now but Morgan did not seem to mind.

Morgan gathered up her things. "Once you're done, Lucy, come by Corin's rooms. He'll be killing lots of giants."

She did not kiss him good bye, but Edmund did receive a nice smile. As they left, Morgan was asking Corin how many arrows one person could carry – probably to help with future arithmetic problems. Jina went with them.

"Jalur, would you stand guard outside?"

The Tiger rose and stretched; his claws snagged the rugs. "We will still go and look for dumb otters for me to eat?"

"Of course," Edmund replied and shut the door once Jalur took his position outside in the hall. The Tiger would keep anyone from getting too close.

"Thank you, my sister, for not being insufferably smug."

Lucy jumped up and gave him an enormous hug. "Oh don't be ridiculous, Edmund. I've liked Morgan from the first day I met her and you both have been miserable since you parted and all the doubters may just go hang."

The last was spoken very fiercely and raised the concerns that had been brewing, even before, in the Lone Islands. Though, it was nice to hear that Morgan had been unhappy with the separation as well. He held out the chair for Lucy and they both sat again. Lucy helped herself to a mug of juice and drank quickly.

"Forgive me, but chasing Corin is thirsty work."

"So, about those doubters?" Edmund pressed. "I have heard nothing, though admittedly I've not been especially attentive since arriving here."

"Patching things up with Morgan is far more important than silly gossip," Lucy replied and stretched out her legs. She was in Narnian trousers and boots that she scraped on the rug, leaving a muddy trail. Lucy tried rubbing the mark out and succeeded in smearing it.

"There was some talk before you arrived, a few things said to me directly and more that Briony and Harah overheard. I admit I don't understand most of it and I do not wish to. What I heard was more of the same from last summer, with people saying beastly things about Morgan and the House of Linch to keep us from working with them."

"That is to be expected, I suppose, and I will need to speak more to Harah." He gestured to Briony. "Lady, please, tell me what you have heard."

The she-Wolf stepped forward and joined them at the table. "Like my Queen, I found it difficult to understand, King Edmund. And it is…" Briony growled a little and looked to Lucy.

"It's all very contradictory, Edmund," Lucy said with a sigh. "On the one hand Harah heard that Linch has, by one means or another, seduced the crown of Narnia to destroy the House of Stanleh, and will rewrite that wretched Code for its benefit."

"But then I heard from others that Narnia has seized all the Houses and is black…" Briony spoke haltingly and looked at Lucy

"Blackmailing," Lucy supplied with a grimace. "Narnia is supposedly blackmailing Linch and we will destroy any others who oppose us."

Edmund shook his head. The rumors were appalling, but not surprising. "We have work to do, obviously. I would put Harah and Kangee on it but…"

With some force, Lucy speared a piece of stray fruit on the table with a knife. She disliked this business. "They've both said people are much more guarded here because everyone knows there are Narnian Crows about."

"A Rat could solve that problem. I suppose I could send a Bird to Cair Paravel and ask Raz to come here."

Lucy shook her head. "By the time you send the message and he gets here, hopefully, we'll all be gone. And you'll write the message in Rat and Crow to Peter and so there's no point to it regardless."

"True. Peter would probably read the message and think Lune needs a recommendation for a cook or send me a remedy from the Physician for warts."

They both laughed. Peter and Lucy were both hopeless at the Rat and Crow cipher.

"Anything else?" Edmund asked.

"I've been hearing grumbling among the ladies that King Edmund is ignoring them," Lucy said wearily. "And I like _that_ talk even less than the snide asides about this banking business."

"I am sorry, Lucy. I know it is poor company for you."

She shrugged and ran fingers through her hair, pushing the loose bits behind her ears. "Lune is a dear but the Archen ladies who wield influence in his court can be very tiresome and are always trying to correct my lack of proper feminine decorum."

Briony growled on her Queen's behalf. "In fairness, they aren't _all_ like that." Lucy tried again to rub the dirt mark from the rug with the side of her boot; she succeeded in cleaning her boot. "I did have a conversation with Beryl this morning while Corin was hacking at straw bales – you sat at dinner with her?"

"The Terebinthian investor?"

Lucy nodded. "She was polite, not nasty at all. She's expecting a ship to be delivered for her fleet and she was very worried because under the revised Code, she doesn't know what tax she will be paying on it. She said that what we were doing was causing a lot of uncertainty. She had some other concerns about the banking houses and I told her to bring the matter to you or to Morgan."

Edmund ran a hand over his face and let out a disgusted sigh. Had he replaced one personal problem with four or five truly intractable and serious ones?

Lucy leaned forward and tugged on his sleeve. "_Don't._"

"Don't what?" Edmund retorted, trying to keep the scowl off his face.

"Don't blame yourself, don't doubt yourself, and don't for a moment reconsider your reunion with Morgan. We can be fair to our subjects and our allies and be happy, too. Aslan would not wish it any other way."

_Aslan._

"Thank you, Lucy. And you remind me of how very remiss I have been. I must bespeak Aslan."

Edmund took a moment, closed his eyes, and focused, beyond the distractions of the immediate, on the image of the Lion._ Forgive me, sir, for the wrongs I have done. If it please you, when I return to Narnia, might I make my amends to you?_

He didn't feel the presence as he sometimes did, but simply expressing the heartfelt wish lifted a cloud in his mind. He let out a deep breath and opened his eyes to see Lucy nodding vigorously. "I'm glad you recognized that you needed to speak to him, Edmund."

"I have been reluctant and fearful," Edmund admitted to his perceptive sister. "I've been worried Aslan would not like Morgan or would tell me this is all so very ill-advised, just as Briony and Harah have learned."

"Do not fret about that, Edmund." She spoke so brightly and firmly, Edmund wondered if she had already heard from the Lion. "Remember that Aslan loves you very much and so what is pleasing to him is probably pleasing to you. It will be well."

Briony twitched an ear and turned toward the door. "Someone comes."

They heard voices; outside, in the hall, someone was speaking with Jalur. Edmund got up and opened the door but the servant was already hurrying away. Even in Archenland, people often didn't want to speak to a large Tiger, especially alone. Nor did Jalur encourage communication and was not above intimidating others to assure his solitude.

"A Bird has flown here from Narnia and will deliver a message if you go to the balcony outside your rooms," Jalur said.

Lucy hurried to the big doors that opened to the balcony, and threw them open to the spring. Edmund snagged a linen from the table and handed it to Lucy. They both went out on to the balcony and scanned the sky; Edmund sneezed.

"There!" Lucy cried and waved the linen.

One of the Eagles – from the size the messenger was female – swooped down toward then. Lucy quickly wrapped the linen around her arm and held it up. With her talons, her wingspan, and the stone railing on the balcony, the Eagle would have a difficult time finding purchase and would need an arm on which to land.

The Eagle, Edmund now saw it was Trice, slowed and swiveled her talons forward. It took courage to stand, arm upraised, as a huge raptor came hurtling toward you, claws first. Edmund put a hand to his sister's back to brace her. With a rush of wings, weight, and momentum, Trice landed awkwardly on Lucy's arm.

"I'm sorry, Queen Lucy!"

Lucy held her head away so that her face and hair weren't fouled as Trice furled her wings.

They had all done this before and, though it was awkward, order was restored in short time.

"Thank you, Trice, for making the journey!" Lucy said and carried the Bird into the room. Edmund sneezed again and shut the doors as Lucy was setting Trice on a chair back. The Eagle had a message tied to her leg, which she offered for Lucy. As Lucy carefully untied the message, Edmund dumped fruit out of a bowl and poured water into it for the Eagle. Trice was breathing hard from her exertion and her beak was open wide.

"Drink, Friend," he urged the Eagle, looking anxiously at Lucy as she unfolded the message.

"Your Majesties!" Trice croaked, voice hoarse. "It is not ill news!"

"Thank you, Trice," Lucy said, quickly scanning the letter. "Yes, I see that now."

Edmund was grateful for Trice's effort to make the quick clarification to ease their worry. This wasn't exactly common though if it had been a dire emergency it would have been a faster Bird and an oral message.

"What does Peter say?" Edmund asked, going around to read over Lucy's shoulder. Except…"That's not Peter's writing." He went to the bottom of the message but it was unsigned.

"It's Mister Hoberry's writing, I think," Lucy said. "Oh dear."

_Your Majesties,_

_We of the Palace staff hope this finds you well. _

_At the risk of impertinence and incurring the wrath of our good High King, we write to inform you that your royal brother was accidentally knocked off the walk plank of a ship docked at the Palace quay five days ago. His temper is far worse than the actual injury which is merely inconvenient. The Physician believes the only cure lies in rest, orders which the High King is not inclined to follow. The injury gives him persistent pain, for which he refuses any relief, thereby slowing his recovery._

The concluding sentences were classically those of Mister Hoberry.

_Should one or both of your Majesties return to Narnia sooner rather than later from Archenland, we shall all of course be delighted at this unexpected surprise. Upon such arrival you will certainly be dismayed to learn of the High King's minor though very irritating injury and chide him most severely for being such a difficult patient who refused to take his medicine and follow the Physician's orders. _

_Yours most graciously,_

_The Staff of Cair Paravel_

"Peter is terrible when he's laid up!" Edmund exclaimed. And with none of them there to browbeat and shame the High King into cooperation, it must be ghastly. It obviously was ghastly if the staff had conspired to send this missive without telling Peter.

"Trice, just how bad is it?" Lucy asked, smiling. Edmund took the note from her and would see it burned.

Trice ruffled her feathers and snapped her beak; water droplets and feathers flew about. "The High King made Cook cry. There's been nothing but offal from the kitchens since he was injured."

"Cooked?" Jalur asked, licking his chops.

"Unfortunately, yes," Trice said.

Which meant Cook was very angry as the Carnivores preferred their guts and organs raw and the rest of them preferred offal not at all.

Lucy offered her arm. "Trice, have you drunk your fill? Can I set you outside? I'm sure you are hungry. Do you wish to hunt, or should we bring something for you?"

"Thank you, Queen Lucy, but I'll take advantage of all the dumb game and go find a rabbit. Where should I report?"

"The Narnians are staying in their usual Barrack, so you may rest there," Edmund said. Most of the Narnians liked sleeping in the Anvard castle no more than the Archenlanders wanted to share quarters with a Bear or a Hawk. With the frequent visits, Lune had set aside a building that the Narnians could enjoy according to their preferences – the Barracks had roomy, hay lined stalls, roosts, dark, quiet dens, and no door knobs. Even the Narnians with hands and legs often preferred to stay in the Barrack with their fellows than in the more stilted atmosphere of the castle.

Trice stepped carefully from the chair to Lucy's arm and Edmund opened the doors. This time he didn't sneeze. The Eagle launched herself from Lucy's arm and they watched her fly off over the tree tops.

Lucy carefully unrolled the linen from her arm; it was now badly snagged from Trice's claws. "Well, I am sorry for our poor, abused staff, but I'm not sorry for an excuse to return home." Lucy said.

"This speaks to your discontent, my sister, if you would rather be with our irritable brother than here."

"I doubt Peter will consent to take my cordial even if it is not to cure his ill but to spare everyone else his ill temper. Still, I shall offer it." She leaned against the stone railing of the balcony, watching the dumb birds dart about in the trees.

"I would prefer to stay a little longer," Edmund told her. "Morgan is not ready to leave and I should begin the work of reassuring people like Mistress Beryl that the Code under which they make their livelihood can be both profitable to them and fair to Narnia."

"Of course!" Lucy said. "We can easily split up and I'll take the bulk of the Narnian troop back with me. You can drill Corin some, too, while you're here. He would enjoy that very much."

Below them, three storeys down, spread the outer court of Anvard. People were going about their business, carrying buckets and goods; children ran to and fro. He heard a distant clashing and supposed there was an exercise going on among the soldiery in the Anvard training yard.

The breeze lifted the leaves off the trees and stirred his hair – and did not make him sneeze. Lucy murmured something under her breath.

"Lu?"

"You should leave here as soon as possible. Anvard isn't best for any of us now, including Morgan. But don't hurry back to Cair Paravel."

His sister's eyes were distant and Edmund realized she must be speaking with Aslan.

"So you say?" Edmund asked.

"I do. You will both see Aslan. And Morgan should travel more in Narnia and the Narnians will wish to see their King's new consort."

Edmund opened his mouth to protest, to deny it, that it was not some form of a… relationship as Lucy said, that Morgan was not becoming his … something.

Lucy's disapproving look stopped the words.

"We shall do so."

She smiled widely and this time did look very smug. Lucy patted his arm. "Much better, my brother."

ooOOoo

Two days later, Lucy and most of the Narnians were off to save the Cair Paravel staff from the terror of Peter's recuperation. Edmund would return via the long and leisurely road with a smaller troop. If he went west, he and Morgan might very well meet up with Susan who was making a long overland return from Telmar.

Although Lucy moved out, Morgan did not vacate her own room to share his. Morgan estimated a ten-day to complete her work in Archenland and Edmund found they saw each other even less than before. It was more like the time in the Lone Islands than he would have wished.

Morgan's ease in the Anvard court was a contrast to his own nagging discomfort. Lune was a good man and King, but he was Peter's special confidant and there was an element of formality in Edmund's dealings with him. More troubling was that though he had been kindly encouraging of Edmund's courting of Morgan, King Lune had his own doubts which he had expressed privately.

"King Edmund, you understand that there are matters of importance to Archenland to which my Banker is privy that you are not?"

Edmund had automatically replied that of course Narnia respected the confidential relationship between Lune and his Banker. He tried to allay Lune's worries.

"Banker Morgan was at Cair Paravel all last summer, and she gave no hint that she was councilor to Narnia's closest friend and ally until Peter presented your letter. She volunteered no information concerning Archenland and provided only what you specifically authorized."

Lune had been content with his response, but Edmund fretted over what felt to be a burgeoning problem. In the broader world, his personal … ship… _relation_ship … with Morgan was expanding to signify Narnia's too close ties to the formerly independent House of Linch. He was certain guests of the Anvard court were speculating upon it, but with everyone conscious of the Crows, conversations were very guarded. Harah and Kangee had nothing to report other than furtive whispers and closed doors and windows.

Mistress Beryl of House Park, Terebinthia, to her credit, voiced the doubts forthrightly when he and Morgan met with her.

"Eastern Sea trading interests have operated very profitably for well over a century under the Code," she told them briskly. "I am glad that Narnia has retained competent advice and that the revisions are the product of collaboration among the Houses. But the delay in issuance of the new Code is creating uncertainty that is very bad for business."

Edmund cheered silently when Morgan responded, "I am returning to Narnia very soon to review the working group's recommendations. The new Code should be complete by summer's end."

"It is our intent, Mistress Beryl, to expand, not restrict, opportunity for profit." Edmund hoped that in speaking so, she would then spread the news widely that the changes were for the better. "The penalties for dealing in Narnian goods and currencies are eliminated. The Houses will have more autonomy with greater accountability to the Code itself and will be less subject to the arbitrary whims of Conclave."

Mistress Beryl had nodded approvingly. Edmund wished the meeting had ended there.

"That's all very well," Mistress Beryl replied. "However, where shall I go for advice on the new Code?" I mean no harm to Narnia, of course," she added hurriedly, with a glance at Edmund. "But where to go for an opinion independent of Narnia self-interest? Linch has become too close, Meryl is too conservative, Stanleh is under investigation with a Meryl as acting director, and as for Sterns…" She ended with a mild snort. "I think not."

Morgan assured Mistress Beryl that Linch could easily erect internal walls to ensure discretion and, though it greatly pained her to say it, that Maeve Stanleh or Constance and Alan Meryl could also ably represent the House Park and other Terebinthian interests.

Like Lune, Mistress Beryl had been satisfied, but it was all troubling. Worse, having to say something complimentary about Maeve put Morgan in such a foul mood, she stormed out of his rooms when he told her bluntly that her dislike was making her irrational. Edmund vowed to not do so again unless he was prepared for a tirade that impugned his intellect, understanding, and person. In a repeat of the Lone Islands, Jalur woke him in the middle of the night to say that Morgan had returned to their suite of rooms and fallen asleep in a chair in Lucy's vacated bedroom.

Morgan apologized, though the fight almost started all over again when he tried to caution her against such disproportionate reactions.

As Lucy had said, Anvard was not the best place for them now and it was an unsettled time. He was a King in another King's court, whose lover was part of affairs he was not welcome to join.

He managed occupation of a sort. Edmund drilled with the Narnians and the Archenland soldiery. Having been so spectacularly poor at the Bankers' sport of handball, it was a relief to perform in feats where he could give a credible and, he had to admit, exceptional public performance. This being Anvard, the ladies of the court were always on hand to observe the men's drilling. The women certainly noticed him, even if Morgan never did.

One lonely night his imagination won – if Morgan would not be by his side during the evening banquet and entertainment, why not entertain the comely and eager women who complimented his skill at arms and wit at table?

His intellect was bored by the salads and his imagination gave it up when the scented water was passed. These women demanded he be attentive and their intrigues took too much effort to reach any sort of satisfactory conclusion. He pitied them for they were trying so hard to recommend themselves yet flinched every time Jalur yawned.

Frustrated, Edmund excused himself from the entertainment early with more courtesy than he felt. He coaxed Morgan from the counting rooms where she was viciously calculating columns and read the entire courtship agreement to her, from the recitals of general purpose to the signature blocks.

Through the trying time, Crown Prince Corin was the bright spot. Corin was on very good terms with Lucy and Susan – he missed his mother. Edmund felt a natural affinity for the boy, easily imagining what it might be like to lose a brother. So they tromped about the not-very-wild of Archenland together as Jalur hunted unsuccessfully for dumb otter to eat. Edmund found a mount who was very comfortable with the slower pace of Corin's pony when they went riding. Flurry, his stallion, would have never let Corin's pony win their races.

Edmund spent a whole morning trying to teach Corin how to wield a sword on horseback, and slice the head off a deadly advancing foe while not decapitating your pony at the same time. It was giving him a grudging respect for Sir Leszi who had over the work of years turned two weak, untrained boys and a girl into competent fighters.

When a late afternoon squall blew down from the mountains, it confined a very energetic Corin to the Castle for the afternoon. On the theory that the faster Morgan completed her work, the sooner they would leave, Edmund took it upon himself to instruct (entertain) Corin while his math tutor worked on the Archenland budget for next year. He was very curious about Lune's tax rolls and income from other investments, but he was not going to sneak a look at Morgan's calculations.

He and Corin were sitting on the floor of the counting room, cracking nuts, and Edmund was teaching the boy history. Well, Jina was actually doing the teaching.

"And so it was," the Hound said, "that the second son of Frank the Fifth, Prince Col, led the first humans through the mountains to found Archenland. In this way, and with Aslan's blessings, Archenland became the land of second sons. Though the line of King Frank failed in Narnia, it has remained unbroken in Archenland even on to yourself, Prince Corin."

They all clapped in appreciation for the eloquent Hound. "Well done, Lady, as always," Edmund told her.

"History's much better when you teach it, Jina," Corin said. "It's a lot more interesting than reading it in books or hearing my tutors talk on and on about facts and dates and who begat who."

"Thank you, your Majesties."

Corin put his walnut on the floor and hit it with his hammer. Shell and meat skittered across the floor in separate directions with the force of his blow. Edmund had tried holding the nut steady and gotten whacked in the fingers too many times. Corin was the sort who assumed that if a problem was solved through application of small force, application of bigger, more powerful force would solve the same problem faster.

Edmund rose from his seat on the floor to retrieve the worst of Corin's debris. Without a Rat about, he did this frequently. Through the narrow windows, he could see that the rain was still coming down and it was becoming darker, not brighter. It would be Corin's suppertime soon.

"It's just like how maths are better when Morgan teaches," 'Corin said, removing another nut from the basket next to him. "How come you know so much, Jina?"

"The reason I know these stories, Prince Corin, is because this is how many Narnians learn. Many of us cannot write and do not have the eyes to read. We learn our history through stories and have done so since the day Aslan sang Narnia into being."

"And very well told history it is," Edmund said, reaching under the desk where Morgan was working to retrieve another wayward nut. His imagination grumbled about another opportunity squandered. His imagination was very fond of Morgan's legs, was in close proximity to them, and was able to do nothing about it.

"What about the story of King Gale and the dragon of the Lone Isles," Morgan said. She blew on the page of her ledger to let the ink dry and moved it from the small pile on the left of work to be done to the much larger pile of completed work on the right. "I've never heard you tell that one, Jina."

"Dragon?" Corin asked. "Really?" He enthusiastically smashed another nut so hard it flew across the room and pinged Jalur in the side. The Tiger growled.

"Sorry, Jalur!" Corin said, sounding as if he really did mean it.

Jalur grumbled again and turned his back on them. Edmund was secretly relieved. Corin had been enjoying the smashing far more than the eating and Jalur's reprimand was one the boy would likely heed.

He pocketed the nut then remembered that he had no Rats in Anvard to whom he could give it. "King Gale of Narnia killed a dragon terrorising the Lone Islands and that is how the Islands came to be under our crown," Edmund told Corin. "Jina? Are you tired or would you give us another tale?"

"Of course, King Edmund." Jina stretched out again on the floor and began as Narnians began every story. "Come now good Tiger, come now Sons of Adam and Daughter of Eve, that you might hear The Tale Of How Good King Gale Slew The Wrym. To my puppies I tell it, as I learned it from my Dam, as she from hers, back generation upon generation. The Tale has been told since the day Good King Gale sailed to the Lone Islands and delivered them from a terrible dragon. The Gentle Beasts tell the Tale in cave, nest, and den, in wood, mountain, meadow, and pond, so that we might remember it. For though Dwarfs build, and Birds fly, and Fauns dance, Naiads flow, and Dryads green, the Good Beasts of Narnia remember. So, Friends, heed my words. Stop and listen with your sensitive heart so that …"

Jina suddenly stopped and raised her head, cocking it to the side, listening. "Someone comes." The Hound inhaled deeply. "Morgan, it is Tarkaan Rishta."

"Oh Tash's hell," Morgan muttered sounding like a Dwarf. She closed her newest ledger. Edmund, who had just sat again to hear the story, climbed to his feet and helped Morgan shrug into her green surcoat.

"What's this then?" he asked. Tarkaan Rishta had been at the court some days working with King Lune's Exchequer, Lord Ker. He was young, wealthy, and well spoken. He had beautifully crafted scimitars Edmund had admired and had been quite skilled in their use when they'd crossed swords in the training yard. As companions went, Rishta had been good company.

"Tarkaan Rishta likes Morgan," Corin said.

"Oh?" he directed to Morgan, hoping to elicit more useful information.

"It's nothing," she said dismissively, straightening the pins on her robe. Edmund had been ridiculously pleased to see that she still wore the golden Lion broach he had given her. "Rishta has some innovative ideas about irrigation using aqueducts…"

Corin snorted. "And he likes Morgan _a lot_."

"Yes, that, too," Morgan said just as the door swung open.

Corin had the manners to jump to his feet; he also dropped his walnuts and they went rolling about the floor.

"Excuse me, your Majesties, AD Morgan," Rishta said with a deep bow. "I understood I was not disturbing your repose?"

"Not at all, my lord Tarkaan," Edmund replied, bowing in kind. With a nudge, Corin executed a sort of bobbing manoeuvre and then kept going down, to his hands and knees, not in obeisance, but to pick up the scattered nuts.

"What can I do for you, Tarkaan?" Morgan asked.

"Actually, if not inconvenient, it is the King Edmund to whom I would like to speak. Your Majesty, you would do me great honour if you could spare a few, precious moments for private discourse?"

Calormenes never said in five words what could be said in ten.

"Certainly, my lord."

"Corin, gather your things," Morgan said. "Let's go to the library."

"Jina, will you finish the story?" Corin asked, nearly a whinge. He was stuffing the walnuts in his pockets.

"Of course, Prince Corin," Jina said.

It seemed to Edmund that the Hound was concerned given how her brows were knit. He glanced at Jalur. The Tiger uncoiled from where he had been curled in the corner and stalked closer, whiskers forward and tail moving faster. There was no threat display, but Jalur was not completely at ease, either. Edmund was alone with someone Jalur did not know who had also acquitted himself well in arms. He trusted Jalur to make his own judgments.

"Good afternoon, sirs," Morgan said and guided Corin out of the room. With a glance back at them, Jina followed Morgan and Corin out.

Edmund thought Rishta's gaze lingered long and very admiringly on Morgan as she left. He felt a prickling of irritation; Rishta indeed did like Morgan _a lot_. "My lord?" he prompted.

"Yes, thank you, King Edmund." Rishta closed the door, went to one of the chairs, and waited politely for a sign from the higher ranking person.

"Please, sit, my lord Tarkaan. Be at ease." They both sat, facing one another, and Jalur positioned himself between them. The counting room wasn't especially comfortable for a meeting but its chairs would do for _a few, precious moments for private discourse._

Rishta carefully arranged his heavy, richly woven robes about him. Edmund felt his nose itch a little for a faint scent of perfume had entered the room with the Tarkaan.

"How may Narnia serve, my lord Tarkaan?" Edmund assumed it was something like what Mistress Beryl had raised – the Code, the ongoing audits, or, since Rishta liked Linch so well, perhaps he was, as a matter of courtesy, requesting that Narnia waive a possible conflict so that Morgan could work on a matter.

"King Edmund, thank you for the gracious time you give my humble person. I am most grateful for the courtesy you extend, as a Monarch upon whom so many prodigious demands are made."

The introduction might have been a veiled insult for Edmund had not had much to do in Anvard. Or, was Rishta merely being excessively polite? It was always difficult to know with a clever Calormene.

"But of course I am certainly no less nor more occupied than yourself as we are both strangers here at the pleasure of our Archenland host."

"Truly spoken," Rishta said, nodding his head. "If you will indulge me, your, Majesty. I beg your forgiveness in advance if I speak too directly but I do not wish to delay you from your more important duties."

"The Calormene are renowned for their conversational arts, weaving words as beautiful as the Vale of a Thousand Perfumes," Edmund replied. He knew Rishta was from that province and so would appreciate the reference; from the smile, he did.

"Still, though we appreciate the wit and wisdom of your country, we Northerners are a plain meaning race, so I shall appreciate your direct speech in the spirit in which it is given and will not deem your economical words uncouth for all that they are spoken bluntly."

"You are truly as wise and fair as your reputation proclaims, your Majesty."

"Coming from one as esteemed as yourself, that is high praise indeed, my lord Tarkaan."

Edmund could manage these preliminary niceties better than Peter or Lucy who both became impatient with Calormene word play. He had barely gotten started but, for a change, the Tarkaan seemed eager to press the matter.

"So what is your concern?"

Rishta's heavy silken robes rustled and his sleeves fell back to show muscled arms. He bore no knife, though Edmund knew from drilling together that Rishta was well-trained. The man was rich and well-dressed, but he was no fop, either.

"I wish to acquire Morgan of Linch from you."

Edmund stared at the pretty Lord for a long moment. _Impossible._ _Surely he had not heard what he thought he had._ Jalur's low growl pulled him out of his utter shock.

"Excuse me, lord Tarkaan. I believe you said you wished to _acquire_ Morgan?"

Incredibly, Rishta nodded. _Enthusiastically._ "Yes, precisely! I have broached the subject with AD Morgan, but she will not even entertain it given her existing relationship with you. Such loyalty is admirable of course and I would expect no less of her. If you were to release her…"

Astonishment rendered him temporarily speechless; he at least remembered to close his mouth. Jalur growled again, more fiercely, and Rishta looked nervously at the Tiger who had risen to a crouch.

"Peace my Guard!" Edmund ordered, trying to order his thoughts that had all but left him in favor of a building, furious rage that clamored to pummel the man across the room, beat him with a chair, and let Jalur finish him off.

This was beyond insulting; it was obscene.

"You and your Guard are disturbed?" Rishta said, sounding very surprised and looking anxiously between them. "I do not understand? I greatly admire Morgan of Linch and would very much like her to accompany me back to Mezreel. I would of course compensate you for the loss of her services."

He had to speak or he would start hitting something. "Narnia does not deal in people as if they were currency and livestock, Tarkaan," Edmund managed to spit out through a clenched jaw. "Further, Banker Morgan is her own agent. You do disturb us, you offend us, _deeply_, with your proposition and it is rejected, utterly."

Rishta frowned and blinked. "Of course she is her own agent!" he countered. "You suggest I think otherwise?"

"You said yourself you wish to _acquire_ her."

Rishta stared and with the intellect still left to him, Edmund thought that the man seemed as offended by the notion as he himself had been.

"You think I wish to take Morgan of Linch as _a slave_?" Rishta's voice hiked in disbelief.

"These are _your_ words, lord Tarkaan." Jalur growled again and Edmund did not correct his Guard. He was too angry himself.

"I see," Rishta said after deliberate pause. Edmund's fury rose further as the Tarkaan, incredibly, _laughed_.

Edmund rose in his seat, Jalur with him. The insult could not be countenanced.

"Forgive me, King Edmund, please," Rishta said quickly, holding his hands. "My deepest, my humblest apologies. In speaking directly, I have offended when I certainly did not intend to."

Edmund slowly sat and with a glance, Jalur also lay back down. "Explain yourself then," Edmund said. He was still very angry, but would at least entertain the apology before taking more drastic action.

Rishta leaned forward. "Again, my apologies, King Edmund. I believed we were both of the same mind with regard to AD Morgan's extraordinary gifts and that we were speaking the same language of commerce. Plainly that is not so. You assumed I wished to acquire her as I might a slave in the market for pleasure? For my personal use?"

And then, amidst another lurking insult, Edmund _understood_ and the anger he felt at the Tarkaan he now directed savagely at himself.

_Fool._ He had let his personal involvement colour his dealings, had lost his temper, and made the gross, strategic error of a jilted adolescent. _Fool. _

He had to try to regain the ground and credibility lost in this very slippery conversation. "My lord Tarkaan, in this perhaps you were too blunt and hurried, for the word 'acquisition,' has a very precise and unsavoury meaning in Narnia."

"Yes, I see that now," Rishta said. "It had never entered my mind to consider Morgan of Linch for pleasure as you did." He even grimaced, as if the very notion were distasteful.

"King Edmund, you are fortunately a man of the greater world and so we can overcome this misunderstanding and ill beginning." Rishta waved a ringed hand and the nauseating odor of his perfume intensified. "Any woman, indeed, I shall be inclusive for your Northern preferences and include any being, might sate our passions. Whatever fleeting pleasures others provide, AD Morgan is so far above such common lusts, she brooks no comparison. AD Morgan can spin gold from straw."

ooOOoo

Corin ran off for supper; Morgan stayed in the library and Rishta found her there.

"This is the proposal," he said and handed her the folded paper. "Neither King Edmund nor King Lune wishes to part with your services, but will you at least consider the offer?"

"I will. Thank you, Tarkaan Rishta," she said, cracking open the seal and scanning the proposal. It seemed complete.

He was hovering at her desk. "I am not going to give you an answer now, Tarkaan, so please leave me to my work."

"He is disappointed," Jina said, after Rishta left. The Hound rested her head on Morgan's knee. "Would you really leave Narnia and Archenland, Morgan? Would you really go to Calormen and work for him?

"Oh Jina, it's not like that at all," Morgan told her. She rubbed Jina's ears. "I wanted to see what he would offer, in writing. My Director… Father," she corrected, "always says that it is good to cultivate alternatives and hear what is out there. It establishes my value in the market."

She glanced down at Rishta's careful notations and generous terms. The work was very attractive, the sort that she really enjoyed, in this case looking at the options for financing his plans to turn arid waste into arable land. "I'm not going to forgo Narnia and Archenland for the Mezeer province. I'll counter, agree to a lower payment up front and more limited involvement. But I couldn't propose that until I knew what he was prepared to offer."

"I am relieved to hear that, Morgan. I did not want you to go."

Jina's tail thumped against her leg and Morgan bent down and hugged the Hound. "I'd never go anywhere without you, Jina. Ever. I'd be so lost."

"I feel the same way," Jina said and nuzzled her face. "Though give yourself credit, Morgan. You are becoming better about expressing yourself."

_Maybe. _ "If I am, Jina, it is because of you. Now, let me write up a quick reply to Rishta and then I can finish up and we can return to Narnia." She touched the broach on her robe with the gold lion. It still felt heavy and strange but she knew Harold liked to see her wear his lion. Harold had said they would meet Aslan when they went to Narnia. Jina was very excited about it. Morgan wasn't sure what she thought of Aslan. She did have questions for him and had started writing them down and carrying them in a pocket. She had _a lot_ of questions.

But she wouldn't get to ask them if she stayed here in Anvard. Which meant she had to finish up the last of her work. Morgan carefully uncorked the special ink Harold had brewed. The ink was miraculous in how it didn't stain everything and was probably the best gift she had ever received.

She was drafting her reply to Rishta when Harah flew in through the open window of the library.

The Crow was sopping from the rain and shook her wet feathers indignantly. "Banker Morgan!" the Crow Hen squawked. "Jalur asked me to find you. He says you should go see King Edmund in his rooms right away!"

"What's wrong, Harah?" Morgan said. She jumped up too quickly and Jina had to dart away to avoid the chair landing on her as it fell over.

"I don't know," Harah said, giving herself another shake. "All he did was bare his teeth, snap, and tell me to find you as quickly as possible."

She and Jina raced back to the rooms. "It sounds important," Morgan said, trying to not knock into things and people in their haste to see Harold.

"I hope nothing ill has happened," Jina added, trotting next to her. "Perhaps the High King has taken a turn for the worse? Or something happened to one of my Queens on the road?" They went faster, through the narrow passages and up and down the stairs.

As they went toward the rooms Harold had been staying in, Archen servants were hurrying away from them, carrying bags. When Morgan came to the door, Harold was standing at the table talking to Lune's assistant steward.

"That should do for our provisions," Harold said. "We'll travel lightly and won't starve between here and Cair Paravel, so please err on the side of getting us on the road quickly, rather than with complete supplies."

_They were leaving? Now?_ Morgan glanced at Jina; the Hound's hair was standing up a little, which meant she was responding to something she didn't like. Jalur was in the corner, slit-eyed; his tail was lashing back and forth. The Tiger looked very unhappy.

"Of course, King Edmund," the steward said. "Given the late hour, I do not think we can have you provisioned by tomorrow morning. Tomorrow afternoon, certainly. Though, that means you won't be able to get far and you'll be climbing the pass at nightfall."

"We can manage, but thank you."

Morgan felt a clutch of fear._ What had happened? This sounded terrible._

Harold saw her hanging in the doorway and held up a hand. "Banker Morgan, thank you for coming! I shall be done in a moment." His voice sounded odd and strained. Jina's hair rose further and she heard a low growl from Jalur.

The steward showed Harold a list. He looked at it and nodded. "I think that is complete. We brought several horses, dumb horses, with us and they will carry the supplies. We will not need a cart. Speak to Centauress Eirene in the Narnia Barrack. She is seeing to our organization."

The Steward bowed, rolled up his list, nodded to her, and hurried out.

"You're leaving?" Morgan asked, rushing forward. "What happened? Did you get a message? Is there bad news?"

Harold crossed the room in long strides and shut the door with a force that made her wince.

"King Edmund, what has happened?" Jina asked, sounding really worried. "You are very angry."

Jalur growled. "He is. We both are."

"Angry? Why are you …"

"Yes, I am very angry and I'm leaving as soon as provisions can be had."

Morgan was so confused. "Why? What happened?" Was she included? Without even asking if she was ready to leave? He was leaving without her? _Again?_

"You should have warned me, Morgan." Harold was speaking harshly, with short, clipped words. "I was completely unprepared for Rishta's proposal and looked the fool."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded. "He is just looking for advice on a project. It wasn't anything important. I mean, it is important to him, and it's important to the people of his province, and…"

"Perhaps it is of no consequence to you," Harold interrupted. "But how he presented it to me was another matter entirely." She had never heard Harold sound so furious. Even with Seth and during the poisoning he'd never been like this. "Jalur does not think Rishta meant to give intentional offense, but the whole could not possibly have been phrased more provocatively."

"What?" she repeated. "What happened?" Morgan tried to put a hand on his shoulders but he shrugged her off and moved away. Harold never did that. Ever.

"I believed, he led me to believe, that he wished to _acquire_ you, to _acquire_ _your services_."

"Acquire?" Morgan frowned. "Well that's an odd way of putting it."

"Indeed. I concluded, at first, he was not referring to financial advice. Or at least not strictly financial advice."

_Wait. _

"WHAT?" Morgan nearly shouted it. "That's ridiculous!"

"As we were lovers, it is not ridiculous at all," Harold retorted, sounding so cold it made her sick. "He took terrific offense on your behalf, actually, that I would even think so base a thing of the priceless Assistant Director Morgan of the House of Linch."

"Well that was nice of him to …"

Harold was rubbing his forehead and interrupted, again. "The point, Banker Morgan, is that obviously your place is not in my bed and I cheapen you by having you there."

"Harold, this is…"

"My name, please, Morgan. At least now of all times."

He turned away, went to the desk in the room, drew out a parchment scrap and began quickly writing with a lead. It would be his personal packing and task list. Morgan had seen him do this before. He was always very methodical about it; going through ever drawer and looking under every piece of furniture. Harold – Edmund would put out a change of clothes and begin dividing everything else up into neat stacks and each stack would go in different packs depending on whether it would be used during the trip. He would not pack the …

_Stop._ She pulled her attention back to him.

"Edmund," she said. He kept writing, ignoring her. Again, louder, "Edmund, this is ridiculous."

He tossed his writing lead onto the table. A piece broke off. "It is not. I know what is whispered of Narnians, Banker Morgan. You know the saying? You've seen it on the walls of the Narrowhaven alleys?"

"No, I don't …"

"About the mind and where it is in the man?"

_Oh. That._ "Edmund…"

"Only the mind of the Banker is where it should be. That is how it begins. Surely you know the rest?"

"No, yes, I…"

"The mind of a Calormene is in his words, the mind of the Telmarine in his arms, and where is it said the mind of a Narnian is? Where?"

He was so bitter. It was horrible. "Edmund, please…"

"The mind of the Narnian is between his legs," Edmund finished with a fierce scowl. "My bed is no place for the likes of you."

She finally had had enough. Her own anger burst out. "How dare you!" she shouted, stomping her foot, tears leaking. "How dare you! I…"

"Oh, I dare, Banker," he broke in. "King, remember? I most certainly may dare."

"Stop it! You…."

"I am a King who would sully a valued woman of the greater world …"

"King Edmund!" Jina broke in sharply. "Morgan is trying to say something. Do not speak over her."

Fury stronger than the inhibitions and Jina's confidence finally gave her a voice to speak. Morgan tripped over the carpet but kept going and marched right up to him. "Don't you dare make that decision for me! Don't you dare do something you think is for my own good or whatever stupid things you are going to say. Just shut up!"

"You said yourself that you should be the Head of the House. You are right and I should have never presumed to court you. This is only acknowledging the truth of it."

She shook her head and clutched on to his shirt. "You're wrong. You're pushing me away because you think it's best for me, not because of what's best for you or for Narnia."

His look turned uglier and angrier. He didn't like it when she tripped him up like that and it didn't happen very often. He tried to pull away but she wasn't going to let him go without a fight this time.

"I do not see that it matters, Morgan. I am too base for…"

"I told you _to shut up_! How can you be such an idiot? I chose _you_, remember? _I found you_, the one who was writing those contracts. _You!_ That's what brought me to you." Her fists were balled up and she beat the point into his chest. "Mine. It's my decision. You can't take it from me. I won't let you."

She choked on a sob. He was being so awful, making her want to go, but she could never go for these ridiculous reasons when he didn't see his own extraordinary goodness.

"I chose you," she repeated in a whisper. "I found you."

And he finally took her hands in his. "If I had been wearing mail, you would have hurt your hands beating upon me that way."

"I could have poked you with something." Morgan sniffed and had to wipe her eyes on her shoulder. "A letter opener or a needle."

He bent his head to hers and put a hand under her chin. She knew what Edmund wanted, to look at her, to see his reflection in her eyes. Morgan tried. And couldn't. All she saw were the Tiger hairs and Crow feathers on his shoulders. _How did they get there…_ She pulled her focus back to him. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Morgan. The faults are all mine."

"Then I'm sorry you think that, especially since it's not true."

Edmund stroked her face with his fingers, tracing the lines, brushing away the tears, pushing her hair away. "Morgan, I wish you would reconsider."

"You are King, but it's my decision, Edmund."

He was a terrible investment. But he was _her_ investment.

* * *

Chapter 15 to follow, Road Trip

* * *

I apologize for the long delay. I'd really like to get back to chapters of under 10,000 words, but guilt about updates seems to increase chapter length. I apologize for the erratic pace of updates. I wrote 140,000 words between November 1 and April 15, including 62,000 words of _Rat and Sword Go To War_ from scratch. So, I hope to get back to a more regular schedule. I will finish this arc of Harold and Morgan before I got back to _Apostolic Way_.

Also, sometimes Harold and Morgan are easy and sometimes they aren't. A huge thanks and call out once again to the Friends list and the reviewers and correspondents who have been so supportive. You can think Clio for this chapter seeing the light of day.

I hope you'll let me know what you think of this. Thank you


	15. Chapter 15 Road Trip

Harold & Morgan: Not A Romance  
Chapter 15, Road Trip

In which things are sticky, things are sweet, things are slimy, and things are very, very fluffy.

* * *

Edmund was a logistics man. It was his job. So it had been disconcerting when Morgan began expressing opinions about his packing lists for their return to, and now planned for travel about, Narnia.

Lucy had explained before she departed. After the journey last year to deal with Jezebel the artistic Beaver and now so recently returned from Calormen, Lucy was able to assure him that Morgan was not at all fussy about living rough. Morgan was not hugely helpful in a campsite, but she was no hindrance either. "Don't give her anything sharp," Lucy had warned, emphasizing the obvious. "She can build and tend a very good fire, but she can't strike a flint. And she won't be able to drive stakes in to set up her own tent but let her organize the stakes, ropes, cloth and tools first and you will be amazed how much more smoothly it all goes. She will know where everything is, she will know how to pack it, and she keeps a supply list in her head."

It was always interesting to learn how Morgan's eclectic skills and weaknesses translated into new areas. It would be their first time on the road together.

Their troop was small and competent. Several had wanted to stay and return to Narnia with him rather than with Lucy for they wished to be part of Morgan's guard and company. It was warming to learn that some of his subjects, Narnians whom he loved and respected, wished to be with Morgan, too. Edmund had traveled with them all before, except for Rafiqa. She was one of Jina and Rufus's daughters from their last litter and she had wanted to spend time with her mother's friend.

They rode out of Anvard with little fanfare, a day later than he had planned, but better equipped and in far better spirits. Edmund had sent Flurry, his flashy stallion, back with Lucy – a lot of good riding that menace to Anvard had done – Morgan hadn't even noticed. He had Clive, a well-mannered, sure-footed gelding, for their journey. For Morgan, he had brought an even more placid and very smooth-gaited mare from Cair Paravel.

They made their farewells. Even riding out the Anvard gates eased the tension between his eyes and shoulders. The morning was crisp and bright, the weather fair.

Edmund turned in his saddle for a final wave to Lune.

Morgan was behind him and she looked comfortable astride the horse and Eirene was walking next to her. The Centauress was both keeping Morgan company and watching out for the weakest rider among them. Rafiqa and Jina were with them trotting along happily together. Harah was riding on Morgan's shoulder and Eirene had permitted Kangee to ride on her back. Morgan smiled at something Eirene said and laughed. It seemed as if a ray of golden sunlight fell on them all and Edmund had to blink as the light glanced off Morgan. Perhaps that was what the Crows saw, that brilliant shine in her hair?

Morgan made appreciative comments about Eirene's "big sword thing."

_Big sword thing. _

Maybe he should start carrying a claymore like Eirene's if Morgan was so impressed with it? Would Morgan notice if he carried the heavy two-handed fighting sword instead of his typical long knife and short sword?

Yes, she would notice. She probably would not care. He could have Morgan try to lift it and then she might appreciate it. No, best not give Morgan anything so very large and so very, very sharp.

What did she appreciate? Handball had been the competitive endeavor among the Bankers. Alan Meryl had been an outstanding player. In the game, Edmund had focused his efforts on not losing his head or other, more personal parts, to a wooden ball moving faster than an arrow shot from bow.

She loved the ink… Maybe it could be brewed in different colours?

"Trice just reported we've got fair weather through the pass, your Majesty," Master Roblang, the Red Dwarf said, bringing his own hill pony alongside Clive. "The road ahead is reported clear. Given our late start I asked Trice to tell the Hermitage to expect us for the night. No need to climb down the mountain in the dark. We can get a good start in the morning and be at our Narnian campsite by midday."

"Excellent, Master Roblang," Edmund replied. "We're in no hurry, for once. Thank you for anticipating our needs. I appreciate your steady presence on this journey."

With the work on a proper road between Narnia and Archenland, they jointly maintained with Lune an outpost at the top of the mountain pass between the countries for travelers to shelter.

Roblang glanced over his shoulder at the others then nudged his pony forward to match pace with Clive who, obligingly slowed. His horse was a lazy sot. "If you pardon me saying so, your Majesty, but it's a pleasure to be back on the road with Banker Morgan again."

"Again?" Edmund asked then remembered. "Of course! You accompanied Lucy when they went to the Telmar basin about Jezebel the Beaver."

"I did. It was a neat bit of work, what our Valiant Queen and Banker Morgan did. She showed herself to be a good friend to Narnia, King Edmund. It gladdens me to see her returning with us."

Roblang was a Dwarf and so not terribly expressive, though he was very perceptive and a shrewd judge of Narnian character and personality.

"Thank you, for speaking your mind, Roblang." It was embarrassing to hear someone speak so bluntly on something so personal, but Edmund should not be ashamed of it. "For my part, I am glad that you, who I esteem so well, see the goodness in Morgan. Do tell her so yourself."

Hearing the laughter behind them, they both turned about in their saddles. Morgan was reaching for Eirene's sword but, wisely, wasn't actually trying to heft it - she'd certainly drop it and possibly hurt someone.

"Master Roblang, I think I might like to commission a sword like Eirene's, but sized to me rather than a Centauress?"

Of course, your Majesty," the Arms Master replied. "It would be an honor to see that done."

"And a handball court, in the Palace. Do you suppose we might turn one of the cellars to that purpose?"

"I think that very doable, your Majesty."

He would just have to keep Peter off the court.

"And now the sun is shining, the road is clear, and we return home." Edmund raised his voice so the others would hear. "Master Roblang, would you lead us in a song?"

"My pleasure, King Edmund."

_Once a jolly vagabond camped down by a lily pond  
Under the spreading chestnut Tree  
And he sang as he watched as he waited till his kettle boiled  
Who'll come a walking a …_

"Centaur!" Eirene called.

_Walking a Centaur, walking a Centaur  
You'll come a walking a Centaur with me.  
And we sang as we walked as we walked on back to Narnia!  
You'll come a walking a Centaur with me._

"Hound Dog!"

_Walking a Hound Dog, walking a Hound Dog  
You'll come a walking a Hound Dog with me.  
And we sang as we walked as we climbed on up the mountainside,  
You'll come a walking a Hound Dog with me._

ooOOoo

Morgan rose early, when the Hounds did. The caretakers at the Hermitage, two Archen herders and their wives, had been very polite to a King of Narnia. They had bread, cheese, meat and drink when they arrived last night and had already set out a meal on a table outside so everyone could eat something before they climbed down the mountain and into Narnia. Jalur had declined the goat they offered; Rafiqa and Jina took some to be polite. The Hermitage had many Narnians come through so they knew to make a special allowance for how much a Centauress ate for breakfast.

She took two apples and a pasty leftover from supper from the table. Eirene was standing under a tree nearby, eating hay. It was strange to see someone who looked Human in front eat hay with her hands.

"Good morning!" Morgan said to the Centauress and handed her the apple. "For dessert?"

Eirene politely finished chewing and swallowed, her breast plate rising and falling. "Thank you, Morgan. Did you sleep well?"

"I'd forgotten that Master Roblang snores." She nibbled on the pasty; it was typical Archenland fare – heavy, filling, and tasteless except for the salt. She ate it anyway. They shouldn't stop until they set camp for the night in Narnia and Morgan didn't want a delay on her account.

"He does," Eirene replied. "If it continues to bother you, come and find me and you can sleep alongside me."

"Thank you, that's very nice. I got accustomed to it before, so I just need a few days, I think."

They both carefully chewed their respective foods. Eirene flicked away a fly that was hovering around them. Besides being able to get rid of flies, eating with a Centaur was good because it was hard to get distracted. Centaurs had to focus while eating – Pliny's _Animalia and Botanica_ said that they had two stomachs, Human and Horse, and had to know which stomach to direct the food to. Seeing a Centauress eat grass was very peculiar.

It also could become dull. "I am going to go see Flora."

Eirene nodded. She was attacking a bag of oats, with a spoon.

The barn was a big, airy place. It would be drafty in winter, but now it was fine. Harah and Kangee were up in the rafters, poking in the beams.

She waved at the Birds who croaked a greeting and went back to arguing and hunting for something for breakfast that shouldn't be on a table set for Humans.

"Good morning, Flora! I brought you a treat."

Flora didn't say anything, of course, but she did turn her head in Morgan's direction. She made a soft little whicker sound, which was nice.

The mare began nosing about for the apple. Clive stuck his head over the divider between the stalls and Flora snaked her neck toward him, ears back and teeth bared.

"You greedy guts," Morgan told her. Flora took the apple with a slobbery crunch and Morgan let the pieces fall to the ground. She knew better than to try to hold a partially chewed on apple in her hand with Flora eagerly looking for every bit.

"Are you happy to go back home?" Morgan asked Flora. "Eirene says the grass tastes sweeter in Narnia."

"The grubs are better too," Kangee said from overhead.

Flora's head jerked up and next to her Clive blew out. Harold walked into the barn and that meant Jalur was outside and making the horses nervous. The dumb Narnian horses were accustomed to the big carnivores – they had to be – but they still weren't completely relaxed about them either.

Harold was buckling on a sheath that he'd worn yesterday for holding his sword on his back. Morgan knew about the knife he normally carried on his arm and she'd seen his swords a few times, though carried at his side, mostly when he'd been all _King Edmund the Just_.

"Good morning," he said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough. You?"

"Like you, becoming acclimated to snores again." The straps of the sheath were dangling and jangling. He turned around. "Would you mind helping me with the buckle in the back?"

"I'm not very good with those," she replied. Usually Harold was the one who helped her with ties and buttons.

"You are better at it than Jalur," Harold said.

"I heard that," came the Tiger's voice from outside the barn. "_Sire_."

Morgan giggled and whispered, "He's still grumpy about not finding dumb otter to eat."

"I heard that, too," the Tiger replied.

Roblang, Eirene, or one of the Archens could have done the sheath for Harold better than she could, but he knew that and had asked anyway. Morgan wiped her horse-slobbered hands off on a blanket hanging in the stall and started fumbling with the buckles. Harold didn't fidget as if he was in a hurry, though. Under her fingers, she felt he was less tense than in Anvard for all that he was putting on a sword.

"Eirene is still eating," he said. "Did you get something?"

"Yes." The leather was well oiled; the brass buckle was very shiny, so pretty, the Crows would like it…. After four tries and she got the strap through the clasp and tightened it. She really appreciated that he wasn't rushing her.

"Secure it in the third hole," he said. "It has the most wear."

She could see _that_, but didn't snap at him. He was being very patient with her fumbling. It was a very small hole… She wasn't sure she could… Flora started nibbling on her shoulder and she heard Harah and Kangee arguing about the best way to get a fat beetle out of the wall. Morgan gritted her teeth and after two tries, put the pin through the strap's hole.

"Got it!" she said, feeling absurdly happy about it.

Harold flexed his shoulders and turned around. "And very well, too. Thank you, my lady."

Something nice about the sheath was that it had straps across his chest so it was like Harold now came with handholds she could grab on to.

So she did. "My lady?" He had called her that before and she was trying to sort through how she felt about it. There was the possessive_ my_ and there was the _lady_.

"An expression," Harold said.

"What do I call you?"

"Anything you like so long as it is not_ father, brother, or Peter_." He settled his hands at her waist and plucked the belt loops on her trousers. "Do the clothes fit? Mrs. Furner usually does not care a whit what our guests wear but she was very worried about your wardrobe and wanted to be sure you were comfortable for riding."

She wriggled her hips a little bit under his hands. "It was really nice of her to do that for me. They fit very well. I don't think she likes to see me so untidy when I wear your things."

"Uppity, presumptuous staff!" Harold said. "I should pass an edict that Morgan of Linch shall henceforth wear only my shirts!"

"And your last clothing edict ended _so_ well."

He nodded solemnly. "Very true. As fond as I am of you in my clothing and out of it…"

She snorted and tugged a little harder on the leather "handles" he was wearing.

"I admit that for travel I need my shirts on me more than on you, and you do look very well in things that are, as Mrs. Furner would say, _tidy_."

"So you won't be offing anyone's heads at the presumption?"

"Over the matter of shirts? No. Hats and boots may be another matter. And as for corsets…"

"Your Majesty?" Master Roblang called from the barn doorway. Eirene was with him. "We can begin saddling the horses whenever you are ready."

"Thank you, Roblang! In a moment." Harold looked up at the Crows still scrabbling about in the rafters. "Harah, Kangee, leave us, please. Now. No eavesdropping." He raised his voice, "And the same applies to anyone else with long ears!"

"Yes, your Majesty!" Harah said.

Morgan felt a prickle of concern; nothing had seemed out of sorts. "Is there something wrong?"

Harold shook his head. "No, not at all."

He waited until the Crows flew out of the barn.

"I need to address a matter about our route. Would you like to discuss your recommendations on the Lagour Mountain silver mine with Master Duffle and his clan before you present them to Peter?"

Duffle's Red Dwarf mining group had asked for them to explore the Calormene operation. That was why she and Lucy had gone there in the first instance. "I would! That would be very helpful! Can I meet them?"

"Certainly. We can easily travel to the Duffle hold and I had planned to visit it briefly regardless. There is one complication, however." Harold paused, stepped closer, and when he spoke, it was softly. "Seth Stanleh is currently with Master Duffle's clan as part of his rehabilitation. If we all go there, you would certainly see him."

"Oh! Seth? He's in Narnia? _Alive_?"

"We did not off his head, Morgan, though there was sentiment aplenty to do that." Harold said. He wasn't joking now. She was speaking to _King Edmund the Just_.

Morgan bristled a little at his assumption that she thought Seth should have been killed. She opened her mouth and then shut it again. He _was_ right. Pierce and her father had both wanted Seth dead; most of the other Bankers had agreed with them.

"So, we may all go to the Duffle clan hold, or we can arrange for Master Duffle to come and meet you somewhere if you would rather not see Seth."

She stared at another buckle on his sheath. It was so shiny, she could almost see her reflection in it. This one lay very smooth and flat against his chest, someone had probably made the sheath just for him. He must have used it a lot. Traveling? Or fighting, maybe? He wore it and the sword so… casually… Had Harold killed before? Surely he had. It was easier to imagine with the High King who was so big and everything, than with Harold, though he was strong, too, but just not as obvious about it. There had been many battles and skirmishes. He could have killed Seth. That's what the Calormenes would have done. Telmarines, even in Archenland.

"Morgan?"

"What sort of condition is he in? I mean, is he in chains? Or…" She didn't think they would have tortured Seth and broken him into pieces, but…

"He is under guard, always. He is mistreated if you think hard work in a smithy, a garden, a kitchen, or a laundry is mistreatment."

"Seth would hate that. He would think he's too important for it." But Harold was right about that, too. Work wasn't mistreatment, especially when the alternative was being killed.

Harold lifted her chin up and she looked over his shoulder at Flora, who had forgiven Clive for trying to steal her apple and had her head over the stall divider to chew on his withers.

"There is no right or wrong here, Morgan. I see to Seth so that those hurt by him, including you, need not. You can think about it and tell me what you wish to do."

And there was, again, that incredible goodness in him, that made her throat close up and her eyes water and nose run.

Before Harold, she knew this was not something she would have ever considered. She would have avoided Seth as something messy, painful, and inconvenient for herself. Now, she wanted to do more because Harold made her want to be better, to be more like him. "What would be best for Seth? To see me? Or not?"

Harold sighed a little and put a hand to her shoulder, rubbing his thumb along the collar. "Ultimately I do hope to return him safely into the greater world. Seeing someone from his old life would remind him of that possibility and he might believe it coming from you, more than me. And he might apologize to you. That especially would be a very good thing."

Morgan pulled on the Harold handles and brought him close enough for a quick kiss. "Then, yes, I'll see him."

A longer kiss was interrupted by Flora putting her nose between them and Jalur loudly demanding to know if they were still alive.

ooOOoo

_Come along, come along, Let us foot it out together,  
Come along, come along, be it fair or stormy weather,  
The green hills of home before us and the purple of the heather,  
Let us sing in happy chorus, come along, come along_.

Morgan had learned a lot of Narnian walking and tramping songs. Narnians sang all the time. She was self-conscious about it at first, but she knew she sang better than the Crows did and Master Roblang's enthusiasm always made up for being slightly off key, so she didn't worry if her voice wasn't as beautiful as Lucy's.

Singing did make the slow going down the mountain pass by a little faster. The road switched direction back and forth and the morning fog was thick in parts but slowly burned off and gave way to bright summer as they descended. They kept peeling off layers of clothing the further they went. About half-way down, everyone stopped singing and Morgan noticed that the pace picked up. Her own ears popped a little and she wondered if it affected the others. They turned the last switchback and Flora's ears pricked forward. At the base of the mountain the road straightened, opened up, and widened to become the byway the High King had sponsored and that the Dwarfs had built. Morgan really wanted to stop and examine the fine stone work and the way they made it slope, just a little bit from the middle outward, so that water wouldn't pool on it…

The rolling foothills spread out before them and beyond, over the last rise, would be the bright green downs of Narnia which they had been able to see from the mountain. With no urging at all, Flora broke into a trot, just as the others did the same. Morgan didn't like trotting much. She could rise to one, but she wasn't very good at it. Anything requiring a rhythm (other than Illustrations 5 through 22) she had problems with.

Harold trotted up beside her. "Are you alright, Morgan?"

"Fine. I'll be better once we start cantering…"

"Hi Ho!" Master Roblang cried and his pony broke into a gallop and tore past them.

"To Narnia!" Eirene yelled. She and the two pack horses followed Roblang and cantered down the hill and up the other side. Jina and Rafiqa were barking and they and Jalur tore after the others. Overhead the Crows and Trice were calling to one another, diving and swooping about.

Flora didn't need even a kick in the sides; she didn't want to be left behind and surged after the others. Morgan had to clutch onto the saddle like the rankest amateur until Flora broke into a smooth canter to chase after the other horses.

Harold let out a joyful _Whoop_! and they cantered up the green slope.

By the time she topped the last hill, everyone else had outpaced her. Morgan couldn't feel irritated though, because they were all _so happy_. Jina and Rafiqa were tearing around a stand of laughing Dryads. Jalur was rolling on the ground and rubbing his great head in the grass. He looked like a giant, striped house cat in too much catnip.

Eirene had waded into a small stream and was pawing playfully at the water and the Naiad within it was splashing back.

Flora stopped and dropped her head so suddenly, Morgan nearly slid down her neck. All the horse had their heads down to chomp on great clumps of grass as if they were starving.

Morgan patted her on the neck and couldn't begrudge the mare her treat. "It does taste sweeter, then?"

Flora didn't answer.

Harold was with the others, still on Clive, but he'd dropped the knotted reins and was sitting in the saddle, head tilted up, arms outstretched. Harah, Kangee, and Trice were joined by other Birds and they chased each other about. The Birds dipped their wings in salute to their King.

Morgan slid off Flora's back and managed to get the horse to let her take the bridle off. "Really!" Morgan scolded. "You'll be able to eat more comfortably without it!"

Local Narnians appeared out of the nearby wood, including a group of Rabbits, a Badger, and two Does with their Fawns as well as the grove of Dryads. They were all talking excitedly, pointing, and waving at Harold.

Harold vaulted off Clive, making it look so easy and looked back at her. He was jubilant; never had she seen Harold so happy as he was at that moment. Morgan didn't want him worrying about her.

"I'm fine," she said, smiling back and made a shooing gesture.

Harold nodded and then dropped to his knees. He bent over and reverently kissed the land of Narnia.

And then Talking Beasts and Dryads swarmed over them and Morgan lost him completely in the laughing crush.

ooOOoo

Roblang had planned ahead and was directing them to a campsite a little north and west so that they would be spending the night off the road and not in the shadow of the mountains, but deeper and, Morgan assumed, more securely, in Narnia. Roblang said the site had fresh water, pasture for the horses, and a commune of woodland Talking Beasts and Fauns nearby. Some of Eirene's kin were close as well. From there, it would be another day to Master Duffle's clan hold.

It wasn't far, but it was slower going than Morgan had expected though she was not, at least at first, the reason for the delay. They had to go on foot, for there was no way they were going to be able to make any progress on horseback with every Narnian in the vicinity coming to see their King.

"It is always like this when a Monarch returns to Narnia," Jalur said. "Everyone comes to see, especially with Queen Lucy."

"How do you manage with all the company?" Morgan teased.

"I don't," Jalur replied. "I have offered to eat them but King Edmund won't let me."

The Narnians were also very curious about who she was, a Human woman who was not Queen Lucy or Queen Susan. She and Harold were going to have come up with something better because her titles were confusing them.

"A Banker?" Honeydill the Badger sow asked. "Is that like a Baker?"

"No, Friend," Harold said. "A Banker works in money, not bread. She does important work for Narnia in the great lands beyond our borders."

"Oh, I see," Honeydill said. "Actually, I don't. What's money?"

Morgan tried to explain it, but Honeydill shuffled off, evidently bored. But the Badger understood more than Morgan thought because Honeydill returned a short while later with a pawful of grubs and berries.

"Here is some money, Baker Morgan, though we call them gifts," Honeydill said. "Welcome to Meadowlawn."

"Thank you, Friend Badger." Morgan tried to not squirm as the grubs wriggled in her hands.

When Honeydill turned away, Morgan gave the grubs to the Crows. Master Roblang found a feed bag in the luggage for the slightly bruised berries.

Word traveled quickly and the Narnians of the Meadowlawn all came out to see their King and to meet his Banker, who was not a Baker, and give her "money." There were nuts and pine cones from the Squirrels and other woodland Beasts; the Dryads gave her berries and flowers. The Naiads of the Chipping Stream insisted that she drink from their waters. The insects, fish, frogs, and other squishy dead "money" she doled out to the circling Birds.

"I'm sorry, Morgan," Harold whispered to her after a Black Bear carried in her mouth a honeycomb sticky with ants and leaves and dropped it into her hands. "They spend all their days here, living off the land and it might be simple to you but…"

"Oh hush," she told him. "Be useful and give me your handkerchief. Mine is already full of bugs." She scrapped the comb into the feed bag. "Coin is not the only legal tender of the Known Lands and I've been paid in goods and services before." A large Rabbit was hopping forward with a leafy green between his big teeth. "These things are as valuable as the Tisroc's finest gold plate to the ones who are giving and it means a lot more because it's all they have and he's got a lot of plates."

She stated a simple economic principle so she wasn't sure why Harold grabbed her sticky hand and kissed it. The Talking Beasts weren't sure what that meant, but if the King did it to the Baker–Banker, they would as well, so they all started kissing her hands, too.

Because she did understand value, and what it meant for someone who had nothing to give something, Morgan found it all very moving. She sniffled and her eyes smarted more than once.

A hale Oak bowed before her, which made the Squirrels riding in his branches chatter in annoyance.

"Money from the Trees of the Meadowlawn, Daughter of Eve," the Oak said. He presented her with a beautiful piece of wood.

She was stammering her thanks, intuitively aware that a Dryad giving wood must mean something very significant. It would be like giving your hand to someone, if you could grow it back.

She was so grateful when Harold stepped forward, to say something more gracious. "Thank you, Friend, for this wondrous gift of yourself to Banker Morgan. For my part, I am humbled by your generosity."

Harold – King Edmund – bowed deeply and then had to duck as acorns fell from the Dryad's branches and the Squirrels abandoned their argument to chase after them.

ooOOoo

Even by the standards of the sometimes very lenient Narnian punctuality, it took a long time to reach the site of the camp. Edmund, at times, had to fight his impatience. He had to remind himself that there was nothing they were pressed to accomplish. Rather, the goal was to let Morgan see more of Narnia and to let the Narnians see more of her. On that account, the day was a success. In meeting and accepting "money" from so many Narnians, Morgan had been become very grubby, then sticky, and finally hair and leaf covered. She excused herself for a wash in the Chipping while they set up a quick overnight camp.

There was no need to cook. Some of Eirene's kin had brought food and not all the offerings to Morgan for the day were inedible for Humans.

He and Roblang hobbled the horses while Eirene started a fire in the dell. The grassy bowl around them was ringed with trees and Trees, who had already given them a great stack of tinder. Jalur had gone hunting – there was plenty of dumb game in the Meadowlawn.

Edmund was just thinking it was time to go find Morgan when she came into the camp with Jina and Rafiqa. The three of them were in very high spirits – tongues lolling out (Hound) and laughing (woman) – and sopping wet.

Jina and Rafiqa shook themselves completely, spraying them all with wet Hound hair, and promptly collapsed at the fire.

"At least we're clean!" Morgan said, dropping her boots where they landed by the fire with a squelch.

"Don't you dare huge me," Edmund scolded, throwing a horse blanket over her shoulders that he had unpacked for just this eventuality. "You'll catch your death. Do you want to change out of those wet things?"

"And go Narnian in the camp?" Morgan replied, pulling the blanket closer. No hug but she did kiss him on the cheek. "I'll sit by the fire and dry off." She put a hand to her head and her fingers caught in the tangled mass that had become her hair. "I'm quite the mess, though. Could you get me the comb that is in the oilcloth bag that was hanging on my saddle? On the left?"

She had asked for a comb their first night after returning from the Dryad Dance. At least this time, she was only damp, was not covered in pollen, and he was able to find the comb exactly where she said it would be. Morgan sat on a log and started tugging on her snarled hair.

"Once you are dry, I will let you sit on our bedroll," Edmund told her. "Are you certain you don't need a tent for tonight? We could still put one up."

It was getting dark and it would be better to raise it now if she needed it.

"Really, there's no need on my account." Morgan said, wincing as she yanked the comb through her hair. "Lucy and I camped out most nights without one. Unless, well, would you normally be in one? Because if so…"

"No, I would not put one up for only one night and when the weather is so fair. I prefer without, especially a first night back."

She smiled. "Then so do I."

"Let me do that, Morgan," Eirene said, stepping closer to where she sat.

"Thank you!" Morgan gave Eirene the comb.

On the one wing, combing and tying Morgan's hair was something he had often done. On the other wing, there was something touching about the Centauress doing it instead. Harah and Kangee were watching each hair that came out, hoping it would be a shiny one.

Roblang gave Eirene a tie to braid Morgan's hair. "I always travel with them, for the Queens. I thought they would useful for this trip as well."

Edmund found he was superfluous and also found he did not mind it. It was the little things that had moved him that day: Eirene braiding Morgan's hair; Morgan and Roblang sorting through the gifts, with Birds clustered around looking for tender morsels; how she stooped down to accept earthworms from a Mole; her awkward bows to the Fauns and Dryads; the way Jina and now Rafiqa had become true friends to her. Morgan was interested in everything, she accepted kisses and bugs, asked Squirrels how they cracked nuts, learned from the Deer which plants were best for eating, and complimented the bonded Fox pair on how they managed hunting and Kit care.

Jalur returned, smug, well-fed, and newly bathed himself.

"Thank you, Friend," Edmund told the Tiger, for surely he had washed off the blood before returning to the camp.

With some grumbling, Jina and Rafiqa made room for him at the fire. Edmund knew he was home from the smell of grass, the sound of water, and the musty odor of drying fur and hair.

Roblang brought out food for them all, simple things from the Centaurs, oaten and honey cakes, dried meat for the Hounds, some berries and bitter greens. Roblang and Morgan shared a small skin of ale; he and Eirene drank a little wine.

After dinner, Morgan was dry enough that she could sit beside him on their bedroll. Roblang stoked the fire

"So, Friends, will it be a song or a story?" Edmund asked.

There was the sound a tail thumping on the ground. "My mother tells the best stories," Rafiqa said.

"Oh hush," Jina replied.

"Jina, you do tell wonderful stories," Morgan said. "And there is one that you have mentioned a dozen times, but I've never heard it told in full."

"And which is that?" Jina asked. She rose and stretched and walked over to Morgan.

"About the day that Aslan sang Narnia into being. You begin almost every story by referring to it, but I've never heard it."

"That one!" Harah and Kangee demanded. "Tell the Great Lay!"

There was also a murmur of approval from the listening Trees. Of all Narnian tales, this one was a special favourite.

"I have not heard it myself in years," Edmund said. "Maybe not even since it was told at Peter and Susan's Bonding."

"I do like that story, too," Trice said. "Especially the High King in the egg and the Queen Susan's riddling."

"The Bonding of our Kings and Queens is a fine story," Roblang said. "But even it begins with Aslan and his Song."

"Lady Hound, would you tell the tale?" Edmund asked.

"I will, my King," Jina said.

Crows and Eagle settled in their perch in the overhead tree. Jalur's tail slowly moved, back and forth, gently thumping the ground. Roblang knocked his pipe against a tree stump and lit it again. The Centauress rested, shifting her weight to one side and lifting a hind leg.

The Hound sat again, with her back to the fire, surveyed her audience, and began.

"Come now Gentle Beasts and Birds, Good Centauress and Dwarf, come now Son of Adam and Daughter of Eve, that might you hear The Great Lay of Narnia. To my pups I told this tale, as I learned it from my Dam, as she from hers, back generation upon generation. The Great Lay of Narnia has been told since the day Aslan sang Narnia into being. The Gentle Beasts tell the tale in cave, nest, and den, in wood, mountain, meadow, and pond, so that we might remember it. For though Dwarfs build, and Birds fly, and Fauns dance, Naiads flow, and Dryads green, the Good Beasts of Narnia remember. So, Friends, heed my words. Stop and listen with your sensitive hearts so that all may know The Great Lay of Narnia. Harken to me now."

"It begins thus.

"At first, there was the Great Nothing, a black emptiness. And then into the Great Nothing, Aslan began to sing. Cold, tingling, silvery voices joined Aslan's Song and then at once a thousand points of light leaped out. And so there were single Stars, the Moon, constellations, and planets, bigger and brighter than any seen before."

Morgan leaned her head against his shoulder and they looked up at the Stars overhead, the clever Leopard, the Hammer of the Thunder Giant, the Ship that carries the Sun and Moon across the skies, and the other constellations of Narnia.

"And then Aslan changed his tune, louder and more triumphant. And so, the Sun rose for the first time on an earth of many colours and hues. Again, the Song changed. It became gentle, rippling music and where Aslan walked, grass grew and spread like a pool. The Lion sang light and bright and flowers grew."

Jina's voice slowed to give the next part the reverence that was due.

"The Lion sang deep and strong and the trees grew."

The Dryads around them rustled and moved closer to listen. The words "_deep and strong_" and "_we grew_" wafted through the grove as wind through leaves as the Trees repeated the refrain that told of their birth.

Beyond the circle of firelight, other Narnians had come to hear the Hound tell their story. There were dark shapes and green and yellow glowing eyes all around them. Morgan leaned forward, chin resting on her hands, as avid to hear the story as the Narnians themselves.

Jina continued.

"The Lion sang and green grass began to bubble, like water in a pot."

Just as the Trees had done, the Beasts and Birds in their camp and all around them repeated the words in a soft chorus, "Like water in a pot."

"The land swelled into humps and then from each hump there came out a beast of Narnia."

"We came from each hump," the Beasts and Birds repeated.

"For the first time, Aslan was silent. He went to and fro among the beasts, choosing some, but not others. And those he chose, he changed."

Tree, Beast, Bird, and Being all chorused "We changed."

"There was a flash of fire and Aslan spoke."

The listening Narnians all joined Jina to say the words.

"Narnia, Narnia, Narnia, awake. Love. Think. Speak. Be walking Trees. Be Talking Beasts. Be divine Waters. Out of dumb beasts we were taken and into them we can return."

There was a great, profound silence.

Jina looked to him, her expressive face asking permission. She knew this next part was darker and told of the Human role in bringing evil to Narnia. Edmund nodded. "You have enchanted us, Lady Hound. Please finish the tale."

She shifted on her haunches and continued, telling the story of the Jackdaw's first joke. The Crows cawed their approval of this contribution by one of their kind and everyone around the fire laughed.

The mood turned somber when Jina told of the evil that entered Narnia. Aslan instructed Lord Digory and Lady Polly that as the Humans had brought Jadis into Narnia, now they would labour to repair that wrong. Jina told how the children embarked upon a great journey on the Winged Horse, Fledge, met Jadis at the Garden, and finally returned to Aslan to plant the Tree of Protection.

Last, Jina told how Aslan called Helen from beyond the limits of the world to join her husband, Frank, and how they were crowned first Queen and King of Narnia. It was Edmund's turn to sit and listen, attentively and solemnly, to Aslan's charge to Narnia's first King and Queen. He felt his subjects' eyes upon him as Jina spoke the Lion's instructions to Helen and Frank.

"'Can you raise food from the earth?' Aslan asked. 'Can you rule these creatures kindly and fairly, remembering that they are not slaves but Talking Beasts and free subjects?'" As he had at Peter and Susan's Bonding, some ten years ago, Edmund found himself nodding and making this renewal of the Monarch's sacred vow to Narnia.

"'And would you raise your children and grandchildren to do the same? And if enemies came against the land and there was war, would you be the first in the charge and the last in the retreat?'"

Again, Edmund found himself nodding. Her Monarchs would keep Narnia secure, now and in the future.

"And so it was that from Aslan's Song, Narnia was made, her Beings born, her rulers crowned, and evil foiled."

Jina paused then gathered them all together again with her voice to conclude for all Narnian stories had a moral.

"Friends, here is where the Great Lay of Narnia ends and our duties begin. Aslan created us to love, think, and speak. But out of dumb things we were taken, and to them we can return if we do not heed his word."

"Out of dumb things we were taken and to them we can return," the Narnians all repeated.

The Hound turned her great brown eyes on him. "And to you Son of Adam and Daughter of Eve, be ever mindful that you did not come from Aslan's Song. Narnia is not your country, but it is a country over which a man or woman may rule, if they pledge themselves to Narnia as Frank and Helen did and sit the throne by Aslan's will."

ooOOoo

Everyone shared toasts, handshakes, kisses, and embraces. Jina was thanked for her outstanding story, though a small argument broke out over whether the Moles or the Hounds made better storytellers. Edmund said that he could not possibly adjudge so weighty a matter when both were so very fine. The Fauns' arrival was well-timed; no one could have a serious discussion over their pipes and efforts to begin a dance. Morgan begged off from dancing and Edmund gently made her excuses. He thought she was needlessly self-conscious. The Fauns would want nothing more than to take her hand and twirl her in circles and he would enjoy doing even that with her, very much. But dancing or some lively substitute for it would not be for tonight.

Roblang had taken himself a little further from the camp and was sleeping near the horses, in a hammock strung between the trees. Jalur, Jina, and Rafiqa were close by, around the fire.

Edmund lay on his back, pulled an arm behind his head and stared up at the Stars, the eldest of Aslan's children, the first created in His Song. Morgan rested against his shoulder.

Aslan's instructions – to grow and build, to deal with each Narnian fairly, to raise heirs, to lead, first in battle, last in retreat – he had never before heard the Lion's words as an adult. It was such a solemn responsibility. Frank and Helen had founded a line of rulers that extended centuries, and still lived on in Archenland…

Morgan stirred against him. "Can't sleep?" he asked softly.

"Just thinking."

"Did you enjoy the story?"

"That's what I'm thinking about. I have even more questions than before."

"Really? Such as?"

"Who were Lady Polly and Lord Digory and that strange, third man the Beasts tried to plant? Do you suppose they came from the same place you did, that Tumnus calls Spare Oom? It's not on any map. I've looked. And why were they sent back but Frank and Helen stayed? And what about the moral of the story – what does it mean that Aslan didn't make the Humans the way he made the Trees, Beasts and Stars, but had to call them from somewhere else? And…" She drew her arm across his chest and trailed off.

"I don't know," Edmund admitted. "I have never asked."

"Really? Why not?"

There was an edge to her question that irked him but Morgan moved closer and her hold tightened. She was anxious, not criticising.

"Because of all this that Aslan created." Edmund swiped his hand across the sky. "I cannot but trust one so good as he."

"And because of what he did for you," Morgan whispered.

Edmund nodded, feeling again profound gratitude for Aslan's grace and content that he had shared its source with Morgan. "You do ask very good questions. Perhaps you might discuss them with Aslan."

"He's really real? And really a lion? Lucy said we would meet him? And everyone says Lucy is never wrong about that."

"Yes," Edmund replied, succeeding in not laughing at this latest string of very earnest questions. At this rate, they would never make it to sleep.

"Yes to what?"

"Yes to all of it."

And in a moment of perfect clarity, Edmund knew what he wanted. He pulled Morgan into his arms. "And most of all, my lady, I wish to have you know Aslan better and for him to know you."

All their times and time together and nothing felt quite as this with Narnian Stars overhead, Narnian ground beneath them, the busy, soft sounds of the night, the scents of smoke and grass, and Morgan in his arms. He wanted her to see his country as he did, to love it and Aslan as he did, to be loved so well as he was.

Morgan broke their kiss and tilted away from his embrace. "Do you hear that?" she asked. She untangled her arm from his and rested her palm on the ground. "Do you feel that?"

He smiled at her curious, concerned expression and kissed her worried brow. "I do indeed."

"What is it?"

"Lie back," he told her. "Flat, on the ground."

Morgan did so, shifting away and he lay down next to her so they were side by side. Edmund rested a hand over hers and gently pressed their joined hands into the grass.

"You feel it now?"

How could she not, for it pulsed from the ground, rippled through the very air, and you felt it in your bones, your heart, and with every breath.

"It's like a heartbeat," Morgan whispered. "But coming from the ground."

"What you feel, my lady, is the magic of Narnia."

ooOOoo

They were awoken too early the next morning by Narnians eager to give Baker Morgan more money and to present breakfast and gifts to their King and the storytelling Hound. Feeling a little testy for the lack of sleep and not ready for all the company, Edmund took Jalur and left for the stream with the excuse that he would bring water back for the camp. The others could address the well-wishers. It was looking to be a morning meal long on insects and he hoped the Crows were hungry. Perhaps someone would think to thank Jina in piping hot sausage, pay Morgan in eggs, or do homage to their liege in toast with butter and jam.

"Jalur, if crickets, frogs, and worms are on my breakfast menu, would you kill me a rabbit?" Edmund asked.

"But you always spoil the rabbits I kill."

"Because I need to cook them!"

Edmund was able to enjoy a little quiet to collect himself and a quick, cold wash in the Chipping. One of the Naiads was very playful and kept trying to splash him, which explained why Morgan had gotten so wet last night. Edmund tossed a pinecone into his pool and the Naiad, distracted by the new toy, began chasing it about, like a puppy with a ball.

He was just drying off, out of reach of the Naiad, when a breeze moved through the wood carrying a lovely scent and the hint of music. Edmund's heart and spirit lifted. Jalur leaped to his feet and mewled; head up, whiskers forward, looking in the direction of the camp.

"Your Majesty!" Jalur's voice was quivering with excitement.

"Yes, I think so," Edmund replied.

He shoved his feet into his boots. They jogged toward the joyful noise.

Aslan had arrived.

The camp was thronging with Narnians. The woodland Beasts, the little and the gentle ones, the Rabbits, Voles, Moles, Mice, Squirrels, were swarming about Aslan, in and out between his legs, ecstatic with happiness. The Birds were swooping down, calling and singing. Rafiqa and Jina were wagging their tails so hard, they were fair to coming right off their bodies. The larger Beasts, as well as Eirene and Roblang, were cheering, bowing, and waving tails or arms. It was a cacophony of joyous noise, squeals, cries, caws, and bugles. The camp was a swirl of leaves as the Dryads danced about in a large circle.

Edmund searched through the throng and finally spied Morgan, standing outside the hubbub, looking a little overwhelmed.

He hurried to her side and took her hand.

"I…" she stammered and looked about helplessly, trying to pull back.

"Don't worry." He took a firm hold and guided her forward. The Narnians parted before them and quieted.

Aslan turned his great head and Edmund felt the warmth, love, and the overwhelming goodness of being, again, in the Lion's presence. He dropped to his knees before the great paws. "Thank you, my lord, for coming."

"Edmund," Aslan said in his rich, beautiful voice that you heard in your ears and mind but felt in your heart.

Morgan was so startled by Aslan speaking she stumbled and toppled into him and nearly brought them both flat on their faces before the Lion. Morgan was burning with embarrassment and the somber introduction he had hoped for that would show Morgan off to her advantage was spoiled. Instead they had to get sorted again on their knees.

"Sir, it is my great privilege to make known to you, Morgan of the House of Linch. She is a …."

Now it was his turn for withering embarrassment. Before all these Narnians, on his knees before Aslan himself, how should he refer to Morgan? So important a moment and Edmund was utterly tongue-tied.

"A Banker," Morgan blurted out, eyes fixed on the great velveted paws in front of them. "I'm just a Banker."

"Banker?" an impertinent Squirrel said from a Dryad's branch. "I thought she was a Baker. What does a Banker make?"

The burgeoning argument among the Squirrels prodded Edmund's flagging wit.

"Morgan of Linch is a great friend of Narnia," he told the Lion. Edmund raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Before Aslan he could do no less. "She is also one most dear to me."

"We are well met, Banker Morgan. I am pleased to see you in Narnia," Aslan said.

Morgan's head shot up. "You're a lion! Really a lion?"

Edmund managed to swallow his correction. Morgan should have thanked Aslan and greeted him. Surely Aslan would understand Morgan and her difficulties and not judge her too harshly? He so wanted Aslan's approval.

"I am a true Beast, Morgan. Just as are those whom you have befriended."

"Claws, whiskers, even a tail?" Morgan asked, craning her neck for a look at the Lion's hindquarters.

"Even a tail," Aslan replied. He whisked his tail about for them all to see. "My King, Banker Morgan, please, rise."

Their getting up was smoother than the going down and accomplished without any tripping, stumbling, or falling again.

"Thank you, sir," Morgan suddenly blurted out.

At least her usual title of _sir_ was appropriate, though unfortunately she was still staring at his tail.

"For what do you thank me, Banker Morgan?"

"For Narnia, sir. For making it and everybody in it. It's all beautiful. Except the pollen. The Dryads need the pollen, of course, so you must not change that but couldn't you make it a little less irritating?"

Edmund wished the ground would open up and swallow them entirely. "Morgan!" he hissed. "Must you? _Now_?"

Aslan, however, did not seem the least perturbed and, with a stern glance from him, Edmund knew that in fact the Lion did not like his correction of Morgan.

"Banker Morgan, I shall take your excellent recommendation regarding pollen under advisement the next time I sing a World into being."

Morgan gave the Lion of Narnia a narrow look. "You sound just like my father. Are you imitating him?"

"I am," Aslan said.

"This is another joke, isn't it? Like the jackdaw?"

"It is," Aslan agreed.

And to Edmund's everlasting delight, Aslan stepped forward and kissed Morgan on the top of her head.

"And I thank you in return, Banker Morgan, for your most honest service to my children and our country."

Morgan teetered so precariously, Edmund had to grab her arm. Eyes wide in wonder, she put a shaky hand up to touch the place the Lion had kissed.

"You are welcome, sir," she managed.

The Narnians erupted in a lusty cheer and crowded around the Baker of Linch and Aslan.

It became even louder and more boisterous when Aslan shook his mane and there was a lovely feast with everything everyone liked best though fortunately the bugs, beetles and raw meat were well separate from the tea, cooked sausages, and warm bread and butter. Even though it was still early in the morning, the Meadowlawn Fauns (who were probably still up from the night before) appeared with wine and flutes.

Edmund pried Morgan away from the merrymaking. They were not going to have any privacy, but most everyone was distracted with the food and drink.

"I'm sorry, Harold," she muttered. "I know this was important and I don't know what…"

He silenced her worries with a kiss. "Don't. It is well. It is very well. I do think he likes you and he doesn't joke with just everyone. They will be making songs and stories to Aslan and the Baker of Meadowlawn within a ten-day."

She threw her arms around his neck and there was a sigh or sob – he was not quite sure. "Thank you."

"I need to speak with Aslan," Edmund said, rubbing her back. "It should not be too long."

"That is fine, of course. I thought you might want to." Taking a deep breath, she stepped away and glanced over to where Jina was introducing Rafiqa to Aslan. "Do you think I can speak with him, too? After?"

"Ask him." Edmund did not think Aslan would refuse but he also would not dare speak so for the Lion.

Morgan nervously shoved her hands into her pockets and nodded. "I will."

Edmund turned away and as he walked to where Aslan, Rafiqa and Jina were speaking, Roblang's booming voice rose above the din to lead the Narnians in a favourite camping and drinking song.

_Kind friends and companions come join me in rhyme  
Come lift up your voices in chorus with mine  
Let us drink and be merry, all grief to refrain  
For this company might never all meet here again._

With a nod, Jina and Rafiqa excused themselves and Edmund was, finally, alone with Aslan.

_So here's a health to the company, and one for the Moles  
Let us drink and be merry, all out of one bowl  
Let us drink and be merry, all grief to refrain  
For this company might never all meet here again._

Edmund bowed again. "I should say thank you for coming, my lord, but I know well that if I had bent my thought to you earlier and more sincerely, you would have come sooner."

"Well said, my King. Walk with me."

They went away from both camp and stream, deeper into the wood, though the song could still be heard.

_Here's a health to the Dryad  
Who gave wood for the flame  
And one to the Dwarf who lit it again  
Come Crows and Baker, pray generous be  
For we're gathered together with dear company._

___Let us drink and be merry, all grief to refrain  
For this company might never all meet here again._  


* * *

To follow, more of the_ Road Trip_.

Jina's story is taken from the text of _The Magician's Nephew_. I have used that device before in _I love not man the less but nature more_. The drinking song is taken from Lord Gyric of Otershaghe's Bawdy Song Book, _Health to the Company_. The walking songs are the _Uist Tramping Song_ and a variation of _Waltzing Matilda_.

OMG Fluff. She wrote fluff. She wrote over 10,000 words of fluff.


	16. Chapter 16 A is to B as B is to C

**Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance**  
Chapter 16, A is to B as B is to C

ooOOoo

In which a not so evil Banker tries to explain logic to Aslan with predictable results.

ooOOoo

* * *

"I need to speak with Aslan," Edmund said. "It should not be too long."

"That is fine, of course. I thought you might want to." Taking a deep breath, Morgan stepped away and glanced over to where Jina was introducing Rafiqa to Aslan. "Do you think I can speak with Aslan, too? After?"

"Ask him." Edmund did not think Aslan would refuse but he also would not dare speak so for the Lion.

Morgan nervously shoved her hands into her pockets and nodded. "I will."

Edmund turned away and as he walked to where Aslan, Rafiqa and Jina were speaking, Roblang's booming voice rose above the din to lead the Narnians in a favourite camping and drinking song.

_Kind friends and companions come join me in rhyme  
Come lift up your voices in chorus with mine  
Let us drink and be merry, all grief to refrain  
For this company might never all meet here again._

With a nod, Jina and Rafiqa excused themselves and Edmund was, finally, alone with Aslan.

_So here's a health to the company, and one for the Moles  
Let us drink and be merry, all out of one bowl  
Let us drink and be merry, all grief to refrain  
For this company might never all meet here again._

Edmund bowed again. "I should say thank you for coming, my lord, but I know well that if I had bent my thought to you earlier and more sincerely, you would have come sooner."

He heard a rumble but it was approval. "Well said, my King. Walk with me."

They went away from both camp and stream, deeper into the wood, though the song could still be heard.

_Here's health to the Dryad  
Who gave wood for the flame  
And one to the Dwarf who lit it again  
Come Centaur and Eagle pray generous be  
For were gathered together with dear company._

"Today we were to go to Master Duffle's clan hold," Edmund said.

_So here's a health to their majesties, that we love so well  
For wit and for wisdom there's none can excel  
Sure, there's no one on earth who's as happy as we._

"Though given the merriment your generosity has provided, perhaps tomorrow will be our travel day," Edmund conceded. "Whenever we arrive, I shall have to judge Seth Stanleh's rehabilitation."

The path through the wood was thick and narrow but automatically widened to accommodate them side by side as they walked.

"The fate of Seth Stanleh weighs upon you, Edmund, needlessly so. True, you have not sought my counsel before now, but you no longer need my approval for your every action. As your subjects now sing, you possess the wit and wisdom to deal with him fairly."

He had felt that so; certainly Peter, Lucy and Susan had all agreed with the course taken.

"Thank you for so saying. Still, I do wish for your advice. From the reports of Master Duffle and the Guards, it seems Seth still has much to learn. I want to think this is to a good end and that his reform is possible."

Edmund wanted to ask if this whole effort was pointless; he knew it was equally pointless to ask such a question.

"Can you advise me if this is the best for Seth? I had thought time at sea might be useful, though I worried he would jump ship or even throw himself overboard. Is there something else more likely to help him that I have not thought of?"

Edmund felt Aslan's tail brush his back.

"You have created a gentle path by which Seth might find his way to me if he chooses while still assuring the security of your subjects," Aslan said. "Be at peace with your decision, Edmund. I am. Continue as you have with the confidence that you are treating him as I named you, justly."

"Thank you."

Edmund was relieved. He had done his best and he knew that ultimately it would be Seth's doing, not his own. All he could do was make the healing possible.

They walked further into the wood. The Trees bent and bowed to Aslan and Birds darted up and about, chattering their greetings. Edmund thought he caught a refrain of the Moose Song coming from the camp but surely it was too early and they were all too sober for that ditty.

"I would wish for your ear alone," Edmund finally said.

"You have it, Edmund. None shall hear us."

So that unheard of thing in Narnia known as privacy he now had. Still, it did not make what the task any easier. "I…"

After the third try, Edmund threw up his hands in frustration. "Even now I cannot find the words!"

"So you were wise enough that you did not need to ask for my counsel with Seth Stanleh but not so wise that you know what to ask about Morgan."

The Lion's perception was humbling. "Yes, my lord. I know that I may ask, I wish to ask, but I don't know _what_ I should ask. I should, however, have introduced her to you long ago and my apologies for that oversight."

"And that has now been remedied. What more do you want?"

It came out before he could censor it, stated baldly and selfishly. "I want her to return to Cair Paravel with me. To stay with me for as long as…." He did not even know how long he wanted this to last or know how to say it in a way that was not hopelessly greedy and disrespecting of Morgan's own place in the world. And what he wanted might very well be antithetical to Narnia's interests. "For as long as we can," Edmund finally concluded.

The Lion said nothing. They continued to walk.

"So you _do_ think it inadvisable," Edmund finally said, furious at himself and the situation. "You do not approve?" He kicked a rock, felt the sting to his toe and didn't care.

"I said nothing at all," Aslan replied.

The anxiety spilled out all at once. "Our relationship is very ill-advised. The more time that passes, the more clearly I see that. It upsets our neighbors and our protectorates. Consorting with our Banker makes Narnia appear biased; I made a terrible mistake of judgment in Archenland because of this relationship. Morgan's credibility and that of her House assumes independence and we compromise that. It concentrates power just when we are trying to disperse it. Morgan would do great good for Narnia in the Long Islands…"

"Edmund!" Aslan's tail whipped about and thwacked him on the back so hard Edmund nearly fell to his knees.

"Sir?"

"Why do you pose these questions to me? Are they not better put to the one whom they concern? To the one whose wit is equal to your own? Who is experienced in this subtle business of Humans and money?"

_Oh._ "So you…" Edmund wished his voice did not hike with the stress. "…you approve of Morgan?"

The Lion rumbled. It might have been grumbling. It might have been laughter. "Would I overrule the judgment of the Murder? The perceptions of the Hounds of the Pack? I tell you truly that no Otter has ever climbed a mountain pass with an orange for _me_."

Edmund laughed and it felt wonderful to let his fretting go with it. "All true, my lord. Now that you have met her, you can see that she is an exceptional person." He was babbling, but he was so relieved. "Morgan is very independent and forthright; she is honest and courageous in her own sphere, and not frivolous at all. She is so superior to other women who…"

The growl surprised and startled him.

"I'm sorry sir. Did I say something wrong?"

"Do not presume that what is convenient for you is true of Morgan," Aslan said gravely.

Edmund dutifully dampened his enthusiasm to consider the Lion's words. "I am not sure I understand what you mean," he finally said slowly.

"Of the many qualities in Morgan, one you prize highly is that you believe she has a lack of sentiment. It is convenient that she makes so few demands upon you. You ignore that Morgan may not express her wishes because she does not understand them, or cannot speak them, or believes them to be her burden alone."

The criticism stung. It also rang true for he had seen it before. He'd even said as much when he'd been so worried of compromising or pressuring her. Morgan needed Jina not only to help say what she thought when she was anxious, but also to express what she felt. Her refusal to let him make decisions for her, and speaking out as she had, had been a heroic effort. She had only been able to speak so because Jina had scolded him into silence.

"I understand, sir." Feeling a little defensive, he could not help adding, "To be fair, she is a very difficult to communicate with."

With the expected growl, Edmund quickly added, "But I know that does not excuse me."

"Well answered, Edmund. You further would do well to remember that for all the pleasure you take in her company, Morgan has a place in Narnia even apart from you."

"Of course, sir. She is Narnia's Banker. She represents us in the bigger world. She…"

Another growl.

"The Narnians themselves have regard for her and not solely for this money business which so many of them do not use and have little understanding of. She possesses qualities they recognize in themselves and value."

And so another lesson in humility. He has seen this already and over and over, from the very day they met. No guest to Cair Paravel had danced with Dryads, gambled with the Murder, or given her clothing to a Hound. He had never bargained with an Otter or been asked to wear an Otter's token. No one ever sought out the Physician's company. She had been truly gracious in her dealings with his small and humble subjects during this trip.

"I tend to assume a King of Narnia is the prize," Edmund admitted. The Calormene's insult still rankled and with it an uncomfortable and unpleasant truth. He was inclined to take Morgan and their … _relationship_ (he told himself firmly) for granted.

"Edmund, for all my corrections, I would not have you downcast. Be as compassionate to yourself as you are to those who are entrusted to your judgment. You _are_ a gift, my King. You are wise, you have grown much, and with Morgan you grow more still. I love you. I rejoice in your happiness."

He had so wanted to hear these words from Alsan. "Thank you, sir, very much for saying so." Greatly daring and so grateful, Edmund did what Lucy would do and set his hand on the Lion's strong, golden shoulder. "I have been very concerned that what I wished was not what you willed for our country. My duty is to Narnia first, always, and if Morgan was contrary to that…"

Aslan turned his head and breathed on him. Edmund was enveloped in the warm, loving breath of the Lion. Gladness filled the places worry had occupied.

"I thank you, my King, but your duty to Narnia should not be a joyless one. You may both be happy and do my will. So it is here. I would not wish it otherwise."

And why should he be surprised anymore at his sister's astounding insight? "Lucy said much the same thing."

"You would do well to heed Lucy in these matters. Your happiness is pleasing to me." Aslan nudged his shoulder. "This is not a message your brother understands, Edmund. Remind him of it when the time comes."

Aslan's last instruction confused him. Peter took enormous pleasure in his duty to Narnia; the High King embraced all of Narnia and the Narnians loved him deeply in return. "I apologize for my poor understanding, Aslan, but can you be plainer, about Peter?"

"You and your brother and sisters are wise rulers and you love me well. And so what I will and what you truly wish in your goodness are oftentimes the same."

Edmund still did not see what Aslan meant about Peter, but the Lion turned and began walking back in the direction from which they had come. The Birds were chattering again and the Trees were dipping and bowing before them. Edmund would have to sort it out on his own later.

"And now we must see Morgan for she is agitating for our return and has completed her notes."

"I'm sorry, sir," Edmund said quickly. "She means no harm by it. It is just her way and…"

"Peace, Edmund," Aslan replied with a growl. "Giving your trust to Morgan was not error. You may search these lands far and wide and not find another as loyal to Narnia as Morgan of Linch."

ooOOoo

She wasn't nervous. Maybe she should be. Aslan was… well she wasn't sure. He was real. He was really a lion. When Aslan and Harold came back, they had to wade through the Narnians. It was as when they had arrived yesterday but even more so. Everyone wasn't just happy, they were ecstatic. If Jalur acted like a cat in catnip yesterday, today he was a kitten. Eirene couldn't stop prancing and Roblang was grinning and singing and filling everyone's mugs with beer and wine.

_So here's to the company, the Hound and her Pup,  
Let us drink and be merry, we're all in our cups  
So here's to the company, Eagle and Crows,  
Let us drink and be merry, and sorrow no more _

_Let us drink and be merry, all grief to refrain  
For this company might never all meet here again._

Harold came up to her and she grabbed on to his handles, really needing his steadying presence. He kissed her, just a peck, but even she could see that he was truly pleased. This meant a lot to him and whatever he had discussed with Aslan had gone well.

"Don't worry," he whispered in her ear. "He thinks very highly of you, Morgan. And so do I."

"Are you sure? I was so rude…"

"It is well." Harold put his hands over hers and gently pried her fingers from the leather straps across his chest. "Go to him. He knows you wish to speak with him."

She nodded, loosened her hold, and stepped away, walking toward a lion that was the size of a cart horse. She nervously patted down her pockets; her list was still there. Morgan squared her shoulders and spoke as clearly as she could. "May we speak together privately, sir?" She sounded overloud, even amid all the noise of the party.

"We may, Morgan of Linch. Come."

He turned away and went back into the wood. Morgan couldn't calm her yammering heartbeat. She thrust her hands into her pockets to stop the trembling and followed.

The singing and noise disappeared, like a candle snuffed out in a draft. She looked around. "Did you just do that? Did you just make it so quiet?"

"I have many powers, Morgan. The magic of Narnia you feel flows from me."

"And that's because you created Narnia, just as Jina told in the story?"

"It is as the Lady Hound said," Aslan replied.

She hadn't really doubted it, but she wasn't sure she believed it either. As bad as it was to invest in things that eat, at least you could put your hands on them and record their value in a ledger. Magic wasn't anything a Banker knew at all; magic was a very, very poor investment strategy.

"So you have dominion over everything in Narnia?"

"In greater part, yes. Though I shall admit to you that I have felt the limits of my power where the Cair Paravel Cook is concerned."

She snorted in agreement. Cook was _very_ intimidating. They were deep in the wood. It was light and airy; the path was smooth and well worn. Still, she had no idea where they had gone, how far, or in what direction. "Sir?"

"Beside me, Banker of Linch, you will never be lost."

She supposed that made sense. He had made Narnia after all. And he was a… something. Who was also probably speaking symbolically as well as literally.

"I'm very sorry that I criticized you," Morgan said, wishing she could speak as well as it all had sounded in her head as she'd been rehearsing it. "The pollen is terrible and I get very sick on it and so does Harold, and it's a shame because Narnia is so beautiful in the spring. Rinsing your nose out with salt water does help but it's disgusting. Do you have any other suggestions, since you made the Trees and the pollen?"

"No thing of this world is perfect, Morgan. Sometimes we love things because of their imperfections and sometimes in spite of them."

As with the comment about not getting lost, she didn't think Aslan wasn't just speaking about trees, Trees, and pollen. "Can we sit, sir? If I try to walk and read my notes and talk, I'll trip and probably fall down."

"You will not stumble if you walk with me, Morgan."

No question this time. "You do that a lot, don't you?" she countered but did keep on walking.

"And what is that?"

"Be metaphorical. Or, saying one thing and meaning that and something else besides. Can't you ever just speak plainly and give a simple _yes_ or _no_?"

"Yes," the Lion replied.

Morgan laughed. She also didn't trip.

"Banker Morgan we do not have time for me to answer all your many questions. Some, perhaps even many, I will not answer. I believe, though, you have skill in ordering things?"

"Prioritizing," Morgan replied. "It's called prioritizing."

The Lion's tail whipped around and struck her on the back, not hard, but definitely firm. "What was that for?" she asked.

"You are _correcting me_," the Lion said.

"So people don't normally point out your mistakes?"

"No."

"Really? Granted, it would have been nice to grow up without Maeve always waiting to pounce on every error I made. But at Linch, we always say that having someone critically review your work makes for better work. You don't learn from sycophants. Don't you agree with that?"

"No," Aslan replied.

"So you don't appreciate constructive criticism? How do you ever improve? You just said nothing was perfect. Might it…"

"Morgan? Your questions?"

So Aslan didn't like being challenged? Or maybe he did but not now because he was under a deadline? Jina had said that Aslan had other worlds. She wondered how he kept it all ordered. Did he have a secretary and a to-do list? What did that mean, precisely, to have other worlds? Had he sung other worlds into being? Did they all have pollen or had he learned from his mistake in Narnia, even if he said he never did that.

She heard a faint growl. "I'm sorry," she said hurriedly. She was frivoling with his time and that wasn't polite. She became irritated when the juniors couldn't get to the point fast enough, too.

Morgan unfolded a panel of the parchment. Stared at it in her hand. She was delaying. She knew what she wanted to ask first.

"Why am I the way I am?"

"Of all the questions, a private audience with me, and that is what you wish to know?"

"No, that's just my first question." She held up her list and it unfolded completely, _flip, flip, flip_, one carefully creased panel at a time. "I have a lot of questions, 32 in all, not counting subparts, but really don't they all flow from this basic one? A normal person would not manage an interview in this way. He or she would know how to speak with you and would not need crib notes."

"So you are implying that being as you are is a bad thing?"

"Yes! Of course it is!" Surely she should not have to explain. She had embarrassed Harold, rattled on about well-founded critique, and made the Lion of Narnia growl at her. She had just unfolded a list of questions longer than her arm or his tail. (_Tail_. The Lion of Narnia worshiped by all Narnians and a lot of Archenlanders really had _a tail_!)

"I'm better than I was with Jina's help, but I'm terrible with people. I cannot keep my opinions to myself. You have just seen _that_. I'm an embarrassment to those around me."

"And here I thought you asked why do you love so fiercely? From whence comes your keen discernment? How are you able to give unswerving loyalty to those deserving of it? Why do you do the moral thing with no regard to the consequences to yourself? Why, unlike so many others of your kith and kin, do you have a gift not only with coin but with the rightness and wrongness of that coin?"

"But why am I so peculiar? Wait…" She groaned. "See? This is what I mean. You just complimented me and I didn't even think to say thank you. And, you're doing it again. Turning something around so that it sounds clever and doesn't answer my question. Does that normally work for you?"

Aslan grumbled.

"What?"

"I may owe Edmund an apology for being too critical of him on certain matters. I see better of what he spoke."

She wasn't going to be put off. "_Can_ you tell me why I am so different, because it's important and if you can't, then I'll move on to my next question."

"I answer your real question, Morgan, though not as you wish it. It would be a poor world indeed if each was exactly as the other. Each being is unique and you believe your particular uniqueness is undesirable. Perhaps in some places, it is. But in Narnia, among my children, the qualities you disparage are valued."

This still did not answer _the why_. Maybe Aslan didn't know. He hadn't sung Humans into existence, after all. They had all come from somewhere else. Jina said Humans weren't part of the Song.

"So all you can tell me is that at least in Narnia I won't be ridiculed for being as I am because I'm like the Crows," she retorted and felt very disappointed. If he'd been able to answer this fundamental question, she had been prepared to ignore the last half of her list and bring it down to a mere 16 questions and 21 subparts.

"Morgan you are far more than that." He was definitely scolding her. "You are clever and worldly as the Crows are. You hold a special place among the Hounds for your persistence and faithfulness. As guard and guide, you are aiding those such as Master Duffle and his clan who wish to move more confidently in the greater world. You will always have a special and revered place in Narnia."

That should have made her feel better. It did not, for Morgan was sure she was hearing a caution here, too.

"You are doing it again, aren't you? Saying one thing and suggesting something else? I think you are implying that there will be a time when I will need Narnia more than I do now. Am I right?"

"Did you not say yourself that your abilities have improved with Jina as your aid?"

Did he always think he could do this? Not answer the question posed? "I meant how you say I'll always have a place here. That makes it sound like a warning that I'm going to need it."

Which brought her to the next priority on her list. "Are you the cat in my dreams who keeps saying that what comes into this world can leave it the same way?"

"All my children come to my door in the end, Morgan. Someday, even you shall."

She wished she'd brought a lead because his every statement was raising more questions. "How can that be? I'm not a descendant of the Narnians you sang into being, like the Beasts and the Dryads. You didn't bring me to Narnia like you did Harold and his brother and sisters. I can't be one of your children." Though, was she making an erroneous assumption? "Can I?"

"How could I but love one who loves what I love so well?"

_Really._ If a junior had presented this sort of argument, she would have sent him back for remedial instruction. "Where's the logic in that?" she retorted. "Second, even if that made sense, which it does not, how could that make me yours? I've never given you anything. I didn't even really believe you were you until today. And I don't feel anything like how Harold does, how he prays to you and trusts you, or Jina, or any of the others. The Calormene have their temples and Telmarines have their holy orders. I don't worship you. You are mostly really irritating me because you won't answer a simple question."

"Yet the Narnians you love, love me. I am important to them and they are important to you."

"That's a fallacy, sir. Even if A loves B and B loves C it does not follow that A loves C. This isn't a transitive relationship in math."

"So first you correct me, and now you argue with me over whom I claim as mine?"

"Yes." She could use one word responses, too. "How can you say I'm yours when I've done nothing _to you_ or _for you_?"

"You wear my image."

Morgan put her hand to her shoulder where the golden lion was pinned. "Harold gave it to me." Though, Aslan probably already knew that. "I wear it for him."

"And what of the other pin, the one made for you by Narnians and given to you by Narnians, representing the Beasts, the Birds, and the Trees?"

He was referring to the wooden badge painted with the Crow, the Dog, and the Orange Tree. "I wear it for them, for the Narnians who gave it to me."

"So you labour on their behalf, you wear their tokens out of respect and for the love you feel, and you expect no reward from me?"

"Of course not!" Morgan sputtered. How could the creator of a whole world be _so dense_? "I have never given anything _to_ you, so I certainly don't expect anything _from_ you. Why should I?"

The Lion just stared at her.

_Oh._

"That's one of your points, isn't it?"

"What you do for mine, you do for me, Morgan."

She sat down with a huff on a log. "Then it doesn't matter what I think of you."

"No."

"And you _can_ answer questions with a simple yes or no."

"Yes."

He was probably teasing her again but Morgan let it pass. She picked at the bark. If she had been sitting on a Dryad, the spirit would have thwacked her. This was just an old, dead stump.

"So you won't tell me why I'm the way I am, you _are_ warning me of trouble ahead, even though you won't admit it or say why, and you are going to keep following me around, no matter what I do."

"For so long as you love Narnia and my children, yes."

"And I can't turn from that now," Morgan said. "I'm Linch. Once we give our loyalty, it's given. I'll never abandon Narnia."

The Lion sat next to her and she felt the warmth of his presence and a lovely scent that did not make her nose itch or her eyes water.

"The Human heart is a confounding and fragile thing, Morgan. Yours is very great. You feel great joy and so also great hurt."

"I don't like hurt."

"None do."

"I thought this would all make me feel better, Aslan. It doesn't." Morgan smoothed her list out on her thigh and looked at the notes she had added last night after hearing Jina's story. "You just said the Human heart is confounding. Is that because Humans weren't part of your first Song?"

"Humans arrived by a weak magic not of Narnia."

"But what does that mean?"

"It means exactly what you think it does, as it is underlined in your own notes."

"You're peeking!" she accused, half joking, half appalled.

"I do not need to see to know, Morgan," the Lion said, sounding very smug. "Humans rule Narnia by my will. Humans are in Narnia by my will, they serve Narnia, but they were not born of Narnia."

_And so we come back to the warning. What could come to Narnia could leave the same way. _

Morgan took a deep breath and readied herself to ask the question she dreaded. Knowing the answer probably wouldn't make any difference – her loyalty was given and there was no going back. But she would at least _know_.

"Does that mean you are going to take Harold away? The way you did Lord Digory and Lady Polly? Or is he going to stay, like Helen and Frank?"

"I told you, Morgan. All come to my door, some sooner and some later, and it is seldom at the time of anyone's choosing save mine."

"That is no answer," Morgan retorted, afraid and very angry. "The Four have brought stability to Narnia – it's the first peace that's been known here in generations and Narnia is on the brink of truly great things." She jumped up and stomped her boot into the soft dirt. "If you love Narnia and your children as you call them the way you say you do, you wouldn't send them back. You couldn't."

Such a bold and furious pronouncement should have provoked at least a growl, not the almost purr she heard.

"What?" Morgan demanded, feeling self-conscious. "What is it?"

"Only that again you show how much you love what I love."

What about simple logic did he not understand? She threw up her hands in disgust. "A still doesn't equal C in that calculation, Aslan."

The Lion flicked his tail. "I most certainly shall commend Edmund before I depart."

Hearing his name gave her fresh purpose. Morgan stomped forward so she was staring right into those great, beautiful, gold and brown eyes. "Yes, about Edmund and the rest. If you love Narnia so much, why did you let the Witch rule for so long? And why did you let Harold – _Edmund_ - meet her?"

The list was crushed in her fist and Morgan shook it at him, not caring if he bit her arm off. She was furious. "How could you have brought Edmund here and not kept him from Jadis? That's awful. He was a child. You could have protected him, and you didn't. Why? Lucy met Tumnus. Why did Edmund have to meet Jadis?"

The Lion just stared back at her, idly flicking his tail. Morgan felt all her righteous anger drain away, leaving weary futility in its place. "You aren't going to answer any of those questions, are you?"

"Would it change how you feel about me, Morgan?"

"I would trust you more if you gave me answers that made sense," she replied. "And if I trusted you more, maybe I could feel the way the others do about you."

"Would you? You already give your love to others, to my children and to their home. You protect them as surely as the army or the guards."

"It's the A not equaling C problem, Aslan. You love them all; I love them. But I'm proof that your proof doesn't work because I don't love _you_."

She did not want to say it. It came out as almost a sob, a personal failure. But it was the truth and she could not feel what was a lie. Aslan was too strange, too inexplicable. She couldn't reason out how someone who was supposedly so benevolent and powerful, who was so loved by Narnians she respected, could be so _arbitrary _and so _vague_. There must be some explanation, but he hadn't given her one that made any sense.

She thought he'd be angry or growl. Instead, to her shock, the Lion tilted his great head to hers and gave her a whiskered kiss. "Morgan of Linch and of Narnia, it will be a very long time before you love me. For that great, beautiful, passionate love of yours, I will wait."

ooOOoo

With the food, the drink, Aslan's presence, and King Edmund's Baker, every Narnian within a day's walk, waddle, or flight, came to celebrate and attend the Occasion. They eventually lost the battle with the Fauns who would not be put off again and a dance began at the campsite as the sun dipped below the trees and Trees.

Before Morgan could slink off, Honeydill asked her to dance and then there was no escape. Yet, however awkward Morgan might feel dancing, she was certainly no less gangly than a Badger.

The pace was faster with the Fauns and the Dryads but these more graceful and nimble Narnians well knew how to dance with those who had paws and who stood very awkwardly on two legs, if at all. They were considerate, undemanding partners with the less sure-footed, Morgan included, and Edmund thought she was enjoying herself.

Aslan slipped away during the evening feast, and Edmund heard Eirene tell Morgan, "He's not a tame lion, you know. He'll do that."

At a slower tempoed march, Edmund exercised his royal prerogative and cut in on Morgan's dance with Eirene – they were holding hands and stepping carefully to avoid one of Eirene's hooves on Morgan's feet.

"I don't dance!" Morgan cried, denying what she had been doing all evening. He pulled her closer anyway.

"I am wounded, my lady, if you will dance with a Skunk and a Stoat and not with me."

He moved slowly, one hand on her hip and one on her shoulder, and, in time with the music, further from the bonfire and the party, where it was a little darker and much quieter. Morgan wasn't graceful in his arms, but she was able to follow him and that was all he had wanted.

Edmund backed her up to a tree. It was definitely a tree – they could not be assured complete privacy, but he thought most of the local Narnians would be at the Occasion. Jalur was hovering somewhere, guarding as he must.

"I shall not pry, but do you want to talk about your conversation with Aslan?"

"There isn't much to tell," she said with a sigh. Morgan leaned back against the tree and set her hands about his waist. "It was foolish to think he would answer all my questions. I did not think I would end up with even more questions than when I started."

"He can be confounding," Edmund replied. "I find the fault lies more in poor understanding of his words and not the words themselves."

"How was it for you?"

"Very well. Humbling, in part and ultimately affirming. I had been concerned about Seth Stanleh and he advised me."

"Hmmmm. You've given Seth more than he could expect to receive anywhere else and are being very fair to him. I'm sure Aslan could have no criticism of your handling of it."

"And you are still comfortable seeing him tomorrow?"

Morgan nodded. "Yes. You will be there, or the Guards. He's very clever, you know, even if Stanlehs will never do something simply if there's a more complex way of accomplishing the same thing. You shouldn't underestimate his ability to say what you want to hear."

"I do not." Morgan had a stray leaf and a few feathers stuck in her hair. Edmund gently removed them, managing to not pull hairs out. They both smelled of camp smoke, earth, and Beast. "I was very glad Aslan approved of the course we are taking with Seth."

Morgan frowned and looked a little wistful. "I know my meeting Aslan was important to you. I'm sorry it started so badly."

"That fault was mine to make such a to-do of it. I should not have criticised you and Aslan took me to task for it. I am sorry. It was most unkind of me."

"You're patience itself to put up with my queer ways," she said with a shrug. "Aslan said he owed you an apology. Did he make one?"

Edmund was appalled at the very notion and laughed. "No, of course not. I cannot imagine such a thing. Whatever could he have meant?"

"I don't know. I think I irritated him a few times."

"And yet he praised you very highly, Morgan. Were you able to see how good he is? How wise his is?"

Morgan grabbed onto the straps of the sheath he was still wearing. She had become very fond of them, her _Harold handholds._ "Aslan gives, even when you've done nothing to deserve it."

"That is the secret of grace. That it is given, joyfully, to all, and most especially to those who have not earned it."

She glanced up from the study of the buckle on his sheath. Her eyes, for a moment, met his, and then slid away. "That's where you learned it, isn't it? From Aslan?"

"It is. I know it is foreign to the Bankers' way of thinking, but it is Aslan's way."

She tensed a little under his hands. "What is it?" Edmund asked, glad that he was improving on reading her subtle signals.

"Nothing. It's..."

Mindful of Aslan's instruction of that morning, he grasped her shoulders. "Morgan, please, do not assume what hurts you is unimportant. If it is difficult to say, I shall wait until you muster your considerable wit to say it."

And so he waited. Morgan pulled her lip between her teeth and drew a deep breath. "It's only that I don't like it…"

He put a hand to her cheek and spoke as gently as he could manage, each word carefully chosen to encourage her tentative steps forward. "What did I say that you did not like?"

Her eyes darted about and fixed on some point over his shoulder. "I don't like you thinking I only have the Banker's narrow view, Harold – Edmund."

And so Morgan was learning, too, when she should use his name.

She clutched at the handholds and her voice grew stronger. "If I only looked at the numbers, it would all be so much simpler, like with my attack on the Building and Works account at Conclave. It's like a curse, to care so much, to see all the … everything. That's not the Banker way at all and…"

"I know," he interrupted. "I did not mean to suggest otherwise. You see so much more than simply moving sums around on a tally card or balance sheet. Narnia is very fortunate to have you, both for your skill and because you value what we do."

Morgan pulled him close, a little roughly, and kissed him hard, with an edge of possession. Edmund found he was brushing tears away from her face. "Thank you. I've wanted to hear you say that for a long time."

There were other things they needed to discuss. But not yet. Barely a ten-day ago, Morgan had been running from him in corridors and hiding behind pillars. They were still feeling their way through this new understanding. He needed to think more on how he had reaffirmed Frank and Helen's oath before Aslan to the assembled Narnians. Morgan would be called upon to make great sacrifices.

"I would suggest we return to our bedroll and celebrate with illustration eleven or twenty-three, but our campsite is currently a ballroom."

"We must wait, my lord." She pulled on the handles again for emphasis and laughed. "I owe Honeydill and Roblang a dance."

In time to the music of Faun pipes, Edmund guided his lady the Baker back into the firelight.

ooOOoo

They came to the Duffle clan hold near dusk. Trice and the Crows had been taking messages back and forth so when they arrived, the good Red Dwarfs had a comfortable tent camp already raised for them at one end of the hold, water drawn, a fire going, fodder for the horses (and Eirene) and a hot meal.

Master Duffle ran a tight, productive operation, sourcing silver, copper, tin, gold, and iron ores from all over Narnia and Archenland and working them into some of the, in Edmund's opinion, finest craft of the Known Lands.

Narnia population wasn't concentrated – something they had assumed and Morgan's census had confirmed. The Duffle clan hold was the largest outside of Cair Paravel and the community at Beruna. Every Red Dwarf in Narnia had a family connection to the Duffles. Master Roblang's sister and her husband were smiths. Mrs. Furner's son had learned his craft here before moving to Beruna to work in building materials.

The Monarchs kept a close watch over what was the closest Narnia came to true manufacturing. Arrangements with the local Dryads for wood, the Foothill Black Dwarf clan for coal, and the Naiads for the water wheel had had to be negotiated and were constantly monitored. Supplies of foodstuffs had to be arranged as the Duffle Red Dwarfs were concerned mostly with the production of things, not foodstuffs. They did grow enough grain to produce a much sought after beer.

This introduction of Morgan went smoothly. After meeting the principal members of the hold, Mrs. Duffle took Morgan into one of the cottages for a wash. After dinner and a fine ale, Edmund and Master Duffle went looking for their respective partners. They found Morgan and Mrs. Duffle in the hold's office and counting room with a partially eaten meal and the clan's financial records.

"From the looks of things, my Golda is going to be at it a while longer with Banker Morgan," Duffle said.

"Possibly all night," Edmund agreed. Morgan looked comfortable and happy. While he would have liked her company, it was good to see her back in her element and sharing her competency in Narnia with … _his_ … _their_ … subjects.

"I won't countenance that sort of crazy work with our guests tonight," Mrs. Duffle said. She was standing next to Morgan and carefully uncorking a bottle of ink. "We've seen its effects in Mister Stanleh. 'sides, Banker Morgan will want tours of our smithies, smelting, and craft halls in the morning and I don't want tired people around our fires."

"Thank you, yes, I do need to do that," Morgan replied. "And please arrange a meeting with the Masters thereafter? I need to better understand both your current capacity and where you hope to be so we can begin some accurate forecasting and budget for increased expansion. Assuming that we can come to an agreement with the Langour Mine, and I think we can if we secure the High King's approval, we need to assess production capability to negotiate favourable supply terms."

She had never even raised her head from the ledger she was bent over and so Edmund directed the question to Rafiqa, who was lying down in the corner, an empty bowl near her.

"Rafiqa, where is Jina?"

"When we arrived, Jina realized that Rufus was here, guarding Mister Stanleh, so she went to see him. Please be at ease though, your Majesty. We all understand the concerns and someone will always be with Morgan."

"Oh, of course! I quite forgot that Rufus was stationed here! Were you able to see your sire?" Edmund asked the Hound. Rufus had been father to almost all of Jina's last litter, which had included Rafiqa.

"Briefly," Rafiqa said, with a thump of her tail. "He was very happy to see Jina, so I told Mother I would keep watch for now while they got caught up."

"My thanks," Edmund said.

"I'm sorry!" Morgan blurted out suddenly. A quill was already stuck behind her ear. "Jina went to see Rufus."

"Aslan be thanked for you, Banker Morgan, and for your skill," Master Duffle with a huff of laughter that was admiring rather than mocking. "Best we leave them to the work, King Edmund?"

Edmund followed Duffle back outside. They joined the other Dwarfs at a long, polished table, enjoyed a bowl of cracked nuts, and shared ale, pipes, and stories.

"Where is Seth?" Edmund asked once they were settled. The ale was very fine, rich and nutty brown and would go completely to his head if he wasn't careful. Edmund had never developed the iron constitution Peter had for Dwarf-made brews.

Duffle banged his pipe on his boot heel. "Sulking."

"We did work him hard today, your Majesty," Hregen, Mrs. Duffle's sister, said between puffs on her pipe. "Made him clean out one of the ovens."

"He knew you were coming," Duffle said as he refilled his pipe with tobacco from his pouch. "Seth was invited. He wants to be a loner, but he's too social and gets lonely." Duffle tilted his head in the direction of a small hut next to one of the hold's cottages, just visible beyond the torch and firelight. "He's in there and probably got his ear to the wall listening for everything we say."

Duffle raised his voice – it made for an impressive boom. "Did a good job today Mister Stanleh! Thank you for your work!"

Edmund saw some movement by the hut, a flapping of wings on the roof and a black shape slinking through the door and then two white spotted shapes emerging – it was Otieno the Leopard taking the shift from Jina and Rufus.

"Roblang?" Edmund asked, nodding in the direction of the two Hounds who were now walking close together and away from their table and the torchlight.

"Aye, your Majesty, I see it, too. Neither has said anything, but we'd best be prepared for the request if it comes. I'll send a Bird to the General and ask her to send us some replacement guards. Rufus will probably want to return with us and Otieno has been here a month regardless, and should be rotated out. Don't want anyone getting stale in their duties by being here too long. We want to keep our guards sharp and attentive."

"We greatly appreciate your Majesties looking into the Langour Mine for us," Duffle said. "Would be a fair treat to start working some of that ore."

"I understand that my sister, the Queen Lucy, saw nothing concerning. And Harah? What is your opinion?"

"We checked the whole operation, top to bottom, inside and out," Harah called from a branch above them. "Looked clean to me. Banker Morgan spent four days going through their books and copied them all. It's her opinion of what's in them that will matter."

"Thank you, Friend, for you part in it," Duffle said to Harah. "We'll be touring our hold tomorrow. If you see something shiny, it's yours for your trouble."

"Thank you, Master!" Harah replied with an excited squawk.

"But you must ask first and Master Duffle must approve it," Edmund warned. Harah was frequently attracted to the shiniest, sharpest, most expensive thing she could find.

Edmund took another sip of the ale and stretched out his legs on a well-made stool. He enjoyed reveling with the Narnians of the Wood and Meadowlawn but it was pleasant to enjoy the more refined hospitality of the Dwarfs, too. It was all sized a bit small but comfortable nonetheless. "Any other news, Master?"

"A Bird arrived yesterday, expecting to find you, but I took the message and promised to see it delivered. She said that the Queen Susan's return from Telmar has been delayed by weather in the west. They'll look to see you at Cair Paravel and not before."

"Well, I am sorry for my sister's sake," Edmund replied. Rain, mud and mountains would make the long overland trip even worse.

"The Naiad at our water wheel wanted to pass on a word to your Majesty," Hregen said. At his sharper look of concern, Hregen smiled, showing yellowed, gapped teeth. "And no, we've got no problems up here at the headwaters. The Naiad has heard rumors of trouble from his sisters at the Glasswater. Something about the nesting birds and Birds there and snakes."

"Snakes?" Edmund asked. "That sounds very odd. Roblang?"

"I've heard nothing, your Majesty. Never heard of snakes giving anyone problems. When I send a Bird to the General, I'll ask her to send an overflight of the Glasswater. Where should she make the report?"

"Cair Paravel, I think, unless it seems urgent."

Morgan and Mrs. Duffle joined them just as they were opening up the Lightning. Edmund took one glass as a courtesy. Morgan could not manage more than a single, coughing, gagging swallow.

Somehow, and against his better judgment, the evening turned wonderfully hazy. The delicious ale kept flowing into his cup, Morgan was at his shoulder and sharing his drink, the Dwarfs were alternating between beer and Lightning, and the songs were all in good cheer.

Edmund felt he really should have objected when the familiar chants turned to those in poor taste, then became bawdy, and then truly reprehensible. Morgan left his lap to join the Dwarfess side of the table and it, of course, became a competition.

Edmund blamed Winkle the gregarious Moose who always crashed the Cair Paravel parties during rutting season. True to his reputation, Winkle really had made the rounds because the Dwarfs all knew the Moose's favorite, ribald songs.

The men started it, but it was the women who finished it. Delicate, sensitive creatures _my arse_, as Leszi would say. He was worried when Mrs. Duffle, Hregen, and some of the others climbed up on the table, stamping their feet and clapping in time. Fortunately, Morgan was not so drunk as to join them on the table top. It was romantic to think he might be able to catch Morgan when she fell; equally fortunate, he was not so drunk as to think himself capable of the feat.

* * *

To follow, Chapter 17, Meeting of the Minds

* * *

The drinking songs are again taken from Lord Gyric of Otershaghe's Bawdy Song Book. Due to complaints, I've deleted the last paragraphs of the chapter which included quotes from the Moose Song. The Song had appeared previously in _The Queen Susan in Tashbaan_, is a well known pub drinking song and is frequently performed at Ren Festivals.

My thanks to the F-list for guiding me through Morgan's discussion with Aslan. Among others, I'm very grateful to Clio, to Anastigmat who first wrote Aslan and Morgan in _Deny The Child_ and the exchange that Greaves wrote between Marcie and Aslan in _The Golden Age_.


	17. Chapter 17 Meeting of the Minds

**Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance  
**Chapter 17, Meeting of the Minds

* * *

In which the issue of issue is finally raised.

* * *

_Said the Lion to the Banker_

_Refrain:  
She came down the mountain  
Brown as earth, wearing green  
Shiny hair only Crows can see _

_They met under the Trees  
Sir, may I see your tail, please  
Said the Banker to the Lion_

_Aslan kissed her and told a joke  
The Lion and the Banker spoke  
He shook his mane  
(And waved his tail!)  
Dance! Sing! Drink! Feast!_

_Guard the gold  
Protect our land  
Love them well  
Do my will  
Said the Lion to the Banker _

* * *

"Now, I don't want you hunched under candlelight and over ledgers all night, Banker Morgan."

"Yes, Mrs. Duffle," Morgan replied automatically and carefully dipped her quill in the ink.

"Don't you 'yes, Mrs. Duffle' _me_, young lady!"

Morgan looked up from one of the Langour Mine ledgers she had copied.

"Should I have said, 'No, Mrs. Duffle, I do plan to huddle over candlelight all night?'"

The Dwarfess set down her lantern next to the candle holder on the table. The lantern was a wonderful thing; it was very portable, didn't smoke much, and allowed you to move little windows to direct the light within in certain directions with great accuracy.

"Now, Morgan, dear. We're grateful, make no mistake, but truly, there's no rush. And you've got a nice man waiting for you." Mrs. Duffle winked and nudged Morgan in the shoulder. "Wouldn't you rather be _next to him_ than next to dusty old books? Doesn't do to keep _a King_ waiting!"

They both giggled; Mrs. Duffle had a bawdy humour and knew verses to the Moose Song even Eirene had never heard before. The fact was, though, Harold could be very patient when the return was worth the wait. Morgan wouldn't talk about that sort of thing with others, though.

Morgan carefully rubbed out a stray mark on her notes with a bit of gum, just for the pleasure of seeing it disappear. _Harold made me special ink. _She knew exactly how much all those flowers were that Alan had given her at Two Hearts Day last year and the value of those shares in the Calormene Glassblowers Seth had given her the year before. The ink was the most wonderful gift she had ever received.

"Mrs. Duffle, haven't you ever stayed up too late working on something you were excited about? A surprise? Something very important?"

"Of course, dear, but it's not the same, is it?"

"Doesn't that depend on what you enjoy?"

"Well, there's sense in that, I suppose." Mrs. Duffle shoved her hands in her heavy leather apron. "You work in numbers as we work in metal?"

"Yes! That's it exactly!" Morgan turned the sheet to Mrs. Duffle so she could see it. "There are patterns here and stories that are told. It's important for your operation, for all of Narnia, and it's very exciting to see it emerge. Like a bird from an egg!"

Mrs. Duffle smiled and patted her cheek. "I understand the passion though I don't find my pleasure in it. Working a fine piece of wood or metal into something that's as useful as it is beautiful, there's nothing that compares._ Almost_ nothing, leastwise." She winked again. "He's a good man, our Just King, bringing you all the way here and it's a treat for us to see one we love so well so very happy."

Morgan felt her cheeks pink up a little. "He _is_ a very good man. Just being with him makes me want to be better."

"Well, you're plenty good, too, Banker Morgan," Mrs. Duffle said stoutly. "You've been right helpful with everything in our smithies; you've seen things even we hadn't thought of."

This was more comfortable ground. "You all run a fine operation, Mrs. Duffle. If I can confirm some of the Langour Mine's business, we'll be able to make the case to the High King and get to work. I'll want to be among your first buyers when your smithy really scales up production."

Mrs. Duffle made such a horrified noise, Morgan wondered if something disgusting had wandered into the office. "We won't be selling you nothing, Banker Morgan! Wouldn't be proper, you being one of the ones who got us here, I say." Mrs. Duffle had that to say and more besides. "And you being the King's lady, too. We wouldn't think of it."

It was so nice to hear, but … Morgan lowered her eyes to stare at the numbers before her. They, at least, could be ordered into something neat and sensible.

"I'm sorry to embarrass you, sweetie," Mrs. Duffle said. "You and the King Edmund are well-matched is all, and everyone with eyes in their heads can see it."

Morgan fingered the ledger. "No, it's fine, just strange. Usually everyone criticises or ignores it and hopes it all goes away."

"That's rubbish!" Mrs. Duffle banged the table and set the ink bottle to rattling. Jina added her own growl. "You're obviously with the wrong everyones! Around here, everyone's as happy as the two of you are!"

Morgan smiled at her defenders. The hair on both Hound and Dwarfess were bristling.

"Even out here, away from the Palace, we've all get so hopeful hearing about some fine suitor for the Queen Susan or that the High King has gone courting some great lady." Mrs. Duffle sounded angry and so sad. "And it all comes to nothing, knaves and sneaks and them interested only in the crown and the throne and not what came with it."

Mrs. Duffle leaned forward, palms down on the table. "You're the first who has come out to see _us_ and get a kiss from Aslan himself and you're a Human besides! The Fauns have already made a song about it!"

"Really? Har… King Edmund had said that might happen. Am I a Baker or Banker?"

"Both!" Mrs. Duffle said.

"The song is called _Said the Lion to the Banker_," Jina said from her place by the door. "The Fauns got that one right."

"I heard the story from a Doe about the Just King's _Baker_ who makes round, golden biscuits and gives them away," Mrs. Duffle said. "She was a sweet thing and I didn't correct her."

"That is very kind of them." She was genuinely touched. Maybe this was what Aslan had meant about how she would always have a place? Though there was also what she thought sounded like a warning, too. And staying here, in Narnia, created a whole other set of problems.

"Thank you," Morgan said softly. "It's all just very complicated."

"The best ones always are," Mrs. Duffle said. She began bustling about the office, looking over the candles and wall sconces, and making it all just so. Dwarves really saw things with shape and proportion that no one else could. "I'll see you get plenty of light, but no tea or coffee."

This time when Morgan dutifully said, "Yes, Mrs. Duffle," the Dwarfess didn't correct her.

Mrs. Duffle closed the door behind her.

"Mrs. Duffle is very wise," Jina said, settling again at the door. "You would be wise to heed her."

Morgan pulled the ledgers for the Langour Mine and shined the light from the lantern on them. She wished it was more than metaphorical because, as the Otters would say, this was bloody difficult.

She'd start with the liabilities side of the balance sheet. That was familiar ground for her. She would be better going straight to the difficult parts when she was still fresh and awake – the capital expenditures, the valuations of the mining equipment, and the variable costs on the expense side – but that was all unfamiliar and daunting.

"You are troubled," Jina said.

"Yes," Morgan admitted. "I am."

She picked up a lead the Dwarfs had sharpened for her and bent again over the page. Morgan owed it to them, and to Narnia, to get this right.

ooOOoo

Morgan didn't have the sense that the Beasts did but the evening's warmth had changed to night chill and the lights had burned down. Probably the eighth bell, her mind automatically cataloged from the Lone Islands clocks. There wasn't any singing or merrymaking tonight. Harold was with the Duffles and the other Dwarfs or reading correspondence that had flown in from the Palace. She stretched her arms and neck. The easy work was done. The rest…

"Seth is coming," Jina said suddenly. She rose from her place at the door and came to Morgan's side.

"Oh!" Morgan set down her lead. She wasn't afraid; she didn't think so, anyway. She put a hand on Jina's shoulder; the Hound pushed her nose under Morgan's arm.

"Don't worry. Rufus is with him and we will both be with you. Seth would not try to physically harm you. But I have heard him speaking and his words can be very cruel. Be on your guard."

She heard footsteps. Morgan turned in her chair to face the door just as it swung open. A man stood at the threshold, with a basket under his arm. He stared at her. Morgan was very glad for Jina's warning because she might not have recognized Seth Stanleh otherwise.

"Morgan!"

"Hello, Seth."

"I heard you were here. I thought you were avoiding me."

"I was. But I've also been busy. Come in." Morgan decided she wasn't going to stand up and shake his hand or anything. She didn't want to be that close to him. "What are you doing here?"

"My sentence, remember? I'm a dangerous criminal."

"I meant _here_, in the clan offices." Rufus came in behind Seth. "Hello, Rufus."

"Good evening, Banker Morgan. We are not disturbing you?"

"No, it's fine." She put her hand down and stroked Jina's shoulder and then straightened in her chair.

"I was just doing my evening chores," Seth said, holding up his basket of candles. "Would you like more light for your work, Banker Morgan?"

He sounded part surly, part sarcastic, and somewhere maybe even trying to be cooperative.

"Please."

Seth went about the room, replacing candles in their holders and lighting them from one that had burned low in a wall sconce.

The room brightened and warmed. He set the basket down on the table and removed the last of the candles. "I will leave the extras because knowing your work habits you will need them before the night is over."

"Thank you."

He did not have that drawn look of the overworked Banker at Conclave. Seth seemed much fitter and healthier which would be the effect of Narnia and the kind of hard work that was not measured by the candles you burned at both ends to meet deadlines.

"I know you don't want to be here but you _are_ looking well, Seth."

Seth scowled and pulled his sleeve down. "I brought robes and clothes but they won't let me wear them."

He had always been a careful dresser – all the Bankers were – and now he was in plain, brown homespun that was too short in the arm and leg and too big everywhere else. It had obviously been made for a Dwarf.

"Clothes are clothes. You look very well regardless."

Seth looked her over and his lip turned up in a curl like a grimacing Hound. "You're very… _native_."

"I've been on the road," she replied. "And I like what I'm wearing so you can button it up."

He smiled, thin lips drawn over sharp teeth. Seth would never be put off by someone standing up to him. He'd always loved a good argument. "Just like old times. It's good to see someone I know." He sounded more familiar than she had expected and it felt even more uncomfortable than she had expected.

_I've known him all my life._

_He tried to kill me and my brother to gain his House._

Morgan stayed sitting at the table and Seth stood on the other side. Surely it was really for Seth to talk, not her. It was all very awkward.

"May I sit?" Seth finally asked, pointing to the chair across from her. "I have to ask permission to do anything." He shot an angry look at Rufus.

"You may refuse, Morgan," Rufus said. "Though Mister Stanleh is not armed and you are safe."

"Thank you, Rufus, but it's fine. I trust you and Jina."

Seth slowly sat and looked back and forth at the three of them.

"So your dog is still with you?"

"Jina is not _my dog_," Morgan replied. "She is _my friend_."

"You treat them as if they are people."

"Of course they aren't people," Morgan retorted. "They are Talking Beasts and you are being really stupid if you haven't understood just how special that is after living here."

"Tash's hell, Morgan, when did you become so _Narnian_?" He sniffed and looked her up and down again, eyes lingering on her trousers. "You even smell like one. Your Director would be ashamed."

Morgan felt a curl of hurt and then the anger surged up as Rufus and Jina both growled.

"You are being insolent, Mister Stanleh. If you continue, you must go back to your hut," Rufus said.

"And you are deliberately provoking Banker Morgan," Jina added with a snarl of her own.

_A snake_, Morgan remembered from her notes. _A snake without fangs, but still a snake._

She knew how to respond to rude upstarts who didn't know their place. There was a script. They rehearsed it. Seth had taught it. She wasn't as good as Maeve, but Morgan could do it, too. She threw back her shoulders and raised her chin.

"I am an AD of the House of Linch, councilor to Narnia and Archenland, and you know very well who else looks to me. You know the size of my portfolio and what all I manage. _You're_ the one in disgrace and your portfolio was seized by your sovereign at _my_ recommendation. Show the respect to which I'm entitled or you can leave."

Rufus gave a snort of satisfaction and Jina's tail thumped on the ground.

Seth lowered his eyes and hunched up. Sounding much more conciliatory and deferential, he asked softly, "May I stay a while longer? And talk to you a little? About my family? If it is not inconvenient, AD Morgan?"

If he had wanted information about home, Seth should not have antagonized and insulted her first. She could have Rufus take him away and she could get back to work without Seth's irritating and hurtful distractions.

_Pity_, she reminded herself. _ Mercy._ _He's in gaol and exile._ _What would King Edmund the Just do?_ _What did King Edmund the Just want?_

"Of course," Morgan replied. "But only so long as you aren't mean or stupid."

"Thank you."

It took some time before Seth finally looked up and took a deep breath. "I heard my Director died?"

"He did. I wasn't there but I heard from Pierce it was very peaceful." The Stanleh Director had not been able to survive the combined shocks: the humiliation of his granddaughter in love with a Linch; his House to a Meryl; his favourite account bankrupt due to Morgan's recommendation at Conclave; and his grandson a criminal.

She remembered to add, "I'm sorry, Seth. I know your grandfather was important to you."

"Thank you. And … Maeve? How is she?"

"Pierce says she's managing, which you would expect. She worries about you. She misses you."

"I've thought of writing to her. King Edmund has asked me to try to do so."

_Yes, he would._

"I just don't know what to say."

"That you are alive and still in one piece would be nice. " She remembered what Harold had hoped for. "You could try apologizing to her. If you write something, I'll see she gets it."

He rolled the candles around the desk and they bumped up against the ledger in front of her.

"And my House? Is a Meryl still Acting Director?"

"Yes, though I know that when we return to Cair Paravel, the last of the audit is waiting as well as the Code revisions. We will re-evaluate then."

"_We…_" he mused, sounding snide.

"_We_," she repeated firmly. "And if you cannot accept that, you shall leave me."

He deflated again. It reminded her of the snakes and lizards she had seen in Calormen who would puff themselves up to try to frighten you, and then all the air would go out of them and they'd be all limp and helpless again.

"So Maeve could still assume the Stanleh Directorship?"

Morgan wondered if it would be better for him to know, or if his botched and criminal effort to claim the House over his sister would gnaw at him. She knew how she'd feel if a Stanleh took over Linch.

"I think so," she told him. "Assuming Maeve can keep your Bankers compliant with new Code."

"With the threat of Narnia liquidating the House if she doesn't, Maeve can manage _that_."

She nodded. It would be a harsh penalty and she hoped they would not have to invoke it. Morgan didn't like Maeve but she didn't want to see Stanleh gone, either. As Mistress Beryl had said in Archenland, the Eastern Sea trading economy needed competent advisors and as much as she hated to admit it, Linch couldn't represent all of them. The prospect of business without her old rival was a little depressing.

"And the rumours, about you and King Edmund? The _we_. Are they true?"

That was personal and not about home. Still, given that the Narnians were making songs and stories about it, it was no secret, either, and she wasn't going to lie. She did wonder which rumours and where Seth had heard them. "Yes."

"Unbelievable," Seth said, shaking his head. "AD of Linch and Harold the Clerk? All during shut-in? It started when you went to Narnia?"

"As you and I have our own history, it doesn't say much for your taste to sound that shocked," Morgan said.

Seth leaned forward, close enough that Morgan pushed away from him. Jina growled and with a nervous glance, Seth sat back again.

"You misunderstand, Morgan. You've always underestimated your attractiveness. I just cannot understand why you would settle for a Narnian."

"I'm not settling for anything," she snapped.

"No? So what do you hope to gain?" Seth's eyes turned sharp, the way they did when they would argue about accounts and whose bed to go to during a quick break. "Or, are you playing it subtle? Linch is deeply committed here and surely you're worried about investing in something that arrived out of thin air, _by_ _magic, _according to the stories. Are you taking matters into your own hands? Planning to establish a dynasty and secure Linch's investment?" He whistled, admiring. "Does your Director know? Or was it his idea?"

Jina and Rufus were both growling. Morgan burst into laughter. "Only a Stanleh would connive something so convoluted. Listen to yourself, Seth. That's ridiculous. I _am not_ carrying an heir to the Narnian throne to hedge an investment strategy!"

"Then I don't understand it," he said, sounding angry. He gestured around their room. "Dirt floors, animals and feathers everywhere, no plumbing, no oil for the bread? There's nothing here compared to what awaits you back home."

The growls from Jina and Rufus intensified. "Peace," she ordered them, with a sharp look of her own and then turned back to Seth.

"I grant you, Narnia will never have the riches of Calormen, simply because most Narnians have no need for it." She couldn't and wouldn't describe to him the wealth given so freely to her by Narnians that wasn't measured in coin. But there was value here someone like Seth could understand.

Morgan gestured to the candle holder on the table. "You are either blind to have not seen the craftsmanship in this hold, or you're being deliberately insulting in choosing to ignore it."

He stared at her, then at the candle holder. It was just an ordinary, Narnian thing, good for use as a paperweight and to keep lit candles from dripping wax. It was sitting on a smooth, perfectly balanced, beautifully polished wood table. The holder was fashioned in silver and so finely wrought it looked like a delicate bird nest or a thistle.

"It is beautiful," Seth admitted. "I suppose I never noticed." Gingerly, he removed the unlit candle and tested the holder's weight in his hand. He held it up and looked at the smith's marks underneath. "The craft is better than the ore they used, though. They'd need better raw material and more of it to really supply an export market."

Seth set it back down on the table and turned his head to the side to look at the ledgers spread on the table. "_That's_ what this is all about it, isn't it? There was that Narnian request for a proposal that circulated last year for the Langour Silver Mine. You're looking to close a supply agreement with the Mine."

Morgan nodded. "We did a site visit. Audited the operation." She gestured at the ledgers. "I copied their books and have been trying to sort through them. The High King will expect my recommendation when we return."

Seth reached for the topmost ledger, and turned it about so he could see it right side up. "You didn't usually do the mining operations and heavy industry, did you? Those were always Pierce's accounts. Trying to teach yourself their business model?"

"It's even worse than that," Morgan admitted.

"Oh," Seth said heavily after opening the book and studying what were supposed to be the assets and their valuations. "Five gods, this is a Sterns account, isn't it?"

"What was the clue? The overly aggressive goodwill calculations? The depreciation assumptions that have no basis in reality?"

"The bad math," Seth muttered. He patted down his pockets and pulled out a lead. "Hand me a scrap of paper, would you?"

ooOOoo

The new candles had burned halfway down. With Seth's prodding prevailing over her procrastination, they were pouring over the labour costs.

"King Edmund is coming," Jina said suddenly.

Morgan looked up from the columns of calculations and her eyes had to refocus for the distance. She rubbed them and then the door opened and there was something standing there that was vaguely Harold-shaped. The big orange thing next to the Harold shape was probably Jalur.

"King Edmund!" Seth said and jumped to his feet.

"What is this?" Harold asked.

"Work," Morgan replied, jotting down the interim sum on the page so they wouldn't lose their place.

"So I see," Harold replied. "What work keeps you here so late and long?" There was a pause and Morgan heard Jalur growl. "With Seth?"

"We're going over the financials on the Langour Mine," Morgan said. "It's those idiot Sterns. We're not near done."

"Seth, you have been helping Morgan?" Harold asked.

"Yes, sir."

"When I did not see you at supper this evening, I thought I might find you here. Do you …"

Harold's voice faded. There was a regular pattern there; needed to compare it to previous years... _Was something hiding there? _It didn't look like it but she couldn't be sure…

She heard her name again. "Morgan?"

"No," Morgan replied to what she thought was the question. "We've only been through last year's income statements. I need at least two more years."

"I see."

Jalur growled again, Jina and Rufus as well. _What was wrong with them?_

"It's very complex," she heard Seth say. "It requires an _expert_ eye and _years_ of training to unravel. Sterns has made a proper mess of it. It's well beyond the expertise of any clerk."

"Expertise and training which you have, Seth?" Harold asked.

"As it happens, yes."

A number swam by and danced around the page. There was a thread in the seasonal wages paid … She chased after it, started pulling on the thread , and numbers came with it.

"Seth! I think I see what Sterns was doing here!"

It was getting away from her; it was trying to burrow into the page and hide. Morgan held on and frantically dove after the thread. _There. Was it there? What did it mean? This was good, wasn't it?_ When she looked up from the calculations firing through her head to say something to Harold, he wasn't there.

She blinked and looked around. "Where did he go?"

"King Edmund asked you how much longer it would be," Jina said. "When you didn't answer, he left."

"Oh. Sorry," Morgan said to no one.

"Really," Seth said with a huff and slid back into his chair. "What could he possibly be able to contribute here?"

"Oh just shut it, would you?" Morgan said. "He's brilliant and you're a fool if you think otherwise. You're not a fool, which means you are being arrogant or jealous. So stop it. Either help me with this analysis or leave me alone and go to bed."

Seth's chair scraped on the floor as he brought it closer to hers. "I'll stay, if it is all the same to you. This is far better than hearing drunken Dwarfs sing vile songs."

ooOOoo

Morgan left the counting room office when the candles had burned down to nothing and even Seth was falling asleep. It was so late it was early. Jina and Rufus were just outside the open door, dozing on top of each other. Seeing their contentment made her miss Harold. She would go to his tent; he was usually happy to have her join him no matter the time, even though he always woke when she did.

"I'm going to Harold's," she whispered and began walking to the other side of their camp, guided by the pit fires glowing low.

Jina rose and followed her. "Morgan, really, you do surprise me sometimes. You know better than to be so rude." The Hound was speaking softly, almost a growl.

The criticism brought Morgan up. "I'm sorry, Jina! I just wanted to analyze the accountings and Seth was very helpful. The time got away from…"

It was _definitely_ an angry growl.

"What?"

"It is not the hour, though that is surely not good. It was what you did to King Edmund."

"What did I do?"

"Do you remember how you felt when King Edmund was sitting with Lady Astrid in Anvard? Or when he would say how much he liked Constance Meryl? Or when you knew he went into the wood with Princess Even More Dim?"

"Of course. It was awful." Especially that first night with the Princess. It had been devastating to think he was interested in that sort of vapid…

"And you have just spent all night with Seth Stanleh and when King Edmund came in to see you, you ignored him. You said nothing when Seth insulted King Edmund until after he left."

"Oh!" Morgan was mortified. _Oh Tash's hell._ _How awful!_ "Jina, what have I done! He must be angry! And think all the wrong things! And I didn't mean…"

"Of course you didn't," Jina said. "But it would cause pain and doubt all the same."

"Was he very upset?"

"I don't know," Jina replied primly. "Rufus and I both had to stay and guard you and Seth. But I should not be surprised if he is."

Morgan hurried as fast as the dark and uneven ground would permit to Harold's tent; Jina kept her from tripping too badly. Jalur was outside and opened an eye, but didn't say anything. Morgan pushed aside the folds of the tent. If she wasn't careful, she could get tangled up and bring the whole thing down on them in the dark. Harold's bedroll, the place they had usually shared since coming to the Duffle clan hold, was in the corner and she inched over in that direction, stepping cautiously and feeling her way in the dark.

"Morgan?" She heard his voice and he moved around.

"I'm sorry to wake you."

"I will always wake up when someone comes upon me when I am sleeping. Do not concern yourself. I'm glad you came."

She moved closer and finally dropped down to her knees. It was safer that way for both of them.

"Are you all finished?"

He didn't sound angry. He sounded tired and he did say he was glad she was there.

"Yes. Well no, not quite. There's more. It's complicated."

She crawled forward, feeling the rough woven ground cover beneath her hands. Harold moved about again and she felt his hand on her arm.

"Here," he said, and guided her closer. Her eyes were adjusting a little better to the dark and she could just see him. She rolled up to sit and pulled off her boots.

Their bed on the ground was cool and lumpy but she'd slept this way for weeks. Harold pulled back the coverings so she could slide in next to him.

Morgan tried to pull off her shirt. Maybe she could make it up to him since he'd be angry and probably jealous – she would be jealous… Maybe she should do Illustration Eight for him. He always liked that one…

"Morgan?"

"What?" she asked, struggling to loosen the ties at the wrists of her shirt. She was getting tangled up in the bedcovers.

"While I do enjoy you in bare skin, it is cool and very late. Why don't you keep your clothes on and just go to sleep?"

He gently pulled her down, into the bedroll and drew the blanket about them.

She gave up on the ties and settled next to him. "Jina scolded me. She said I was rude by spending so much time with Seth and that you would be angry. Are you? I'm sorry. I truly am. I just wanted to get this done and Seth knows this area very well…"

"Don't worry. Jina is right. I was a little angry, at first, but by the time I had walked back here, I was thinking sensibly again. I thank you for thinking of me, but I am fine."

"I am sorry. I feel terribly. I know how I would feel if you had done this." She pushed her fingers through the gaps in his loose shirt, let them slide down his chest and lower. "I could make it up to you. Eighteen, maybe? I could do that for you."

Harold caught her hand in his, brought it up, and kissed her knuckles. "I shall ask for deferred performance. It is late, we are both tired. I thank you for the offer."

"I am sorry, Harold. I know that if you had done that to me, I'd be very upset. Are you sure you aren't angry?"

He put his arm around her and pulled her closer. "I am not. If this had happened even a few weeks ago, I might have felt differently. I know better now."

"Really? Why?"

"You are loyal to me, Morgan of Linch," Harold said. "I trust you as I trust my own family and my Guard. You were focused upon the task and while I do wish to be the center of all things, I do know that is also not reasonable."

She laughed and he kissed her hand again. "Further, you cavorting with a man who tried to kill you and your brother strained even my very creative imagination."

"Well and it wasn't as if it was anything special when we were lovers. I mean, Seth never…"

"Morgan, now is a good time to say, _Thank you, Edmund, for saying these things and being so understanding_. _You are very important to me as well_."

"Thank you, Edmund, for saying these things and being so understanding. You are very important to me as well."

She kissed him and let her hand rest on his chest and her head on his shoulder.

"And Morgan? Please don't offer sex in exchange for forgiveness. Your apology is enough. We are well beyond needing anything else."

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to," Morgan replied. This was probably coming from that ridiculous exchange with Rishta that still bothered him.

"Even now?" he challenged, though she could hear it was gently said. "With dawn so close and after a long and difficult night of work?"

"Well…" She had to admit he was right. And so maybe she should tell him that!

"You're right, Harold, Edmund, I suppose. But can we still do Eighteen sometime soon? There's been a lot less of that lately, for some reason…"

The kissing was nice and enthusiastic enough that maybe they would give something more conventional, like Six, a go. But she _was_ tired and Morgan had the feeling that doing anything more than what they were enjoying now would defeat the point of this understanding.

Harold pulled away a little and they settled again, though Morgan was feeling more awake than she had before.

"Here, you apologize, and I was thinking that I am sorry for you," Harold said. He yawned.

"Why feel sorry for me? I am with you." She put her arm possessively across his chest, feeling like a Crow with a coveted Shiny. "We are in Narnia. It's not raining. What is there to be sorry about?"

"That you had questions and had to seek out Seth to discuss them. You must miss your House during these times? You must wish to be able to consult with your brother, or with your father?"

"I'd settle even for Maeve." Maybe. Probably. _Related to Maeve? Really?_ Was she going to teach sums to a child of Maeve and Pierce's?

Harold toyed with her braid and stroked her neck. "I do not have the skill of your colleagues, but you and your House did teach me, Morgan. And you and I unraveled the Zalindreh Building and Works Society together."

Harold was asking her for something. She was so very, very bad at understanding what someone wanted to hear that wasn't about numbers, figures, and business planning, and trying to find the right words, and then actually saying them.

It was so hard.

_One word at a time._

"Harold…"

"Yes?"

"Edmund…" she corrected herself.

In the dark there weren't the distractions. There was just Harold next to her and the sounds of the Narnian night, Jalur's heavy breaths outside the tent, and the feel of scratchy blankets. He waited for her to find the frightening words that went galloping by in her head so fast, she could never hope to catch them, and the more nervous she was, the faster they flew. When they slowed down, she was able to capture them and organize them into a sentence. Times like this were the very hardest for her because she had actually understood that he wanted something and was leaving an opening for her to say it.

_Start with the business first._ Morgan could do this with a client or with Seth with no difficulty when it was all just work and due diligence. She should be able say the same things to Edmund when it really mattered, not as a matter of business, but because it was something for him.

"The High King… I need to…"

The fourth time, it came out.

"The High King will want to be sure the mine isn't slaving. I don't think they are, and if they are, it would be hidden in the labour cost structure. And…"

There was something more she should say. To him, she could admit weakness. "I've not seen something like this before and it is so important for Narnia that I get it right."

_Finally._ She knew what he wanted. He just wanted her to ask.

She stammered and hemmed and finally, it all came out. "I-could-do-it-with-Seth-but-I'd-rather-do-it-with-you-will-you-help-me?"

"Yes, Morgan, I would like to do that very much. Thank you for asking."

Morgan thought she said something that was a garbled thanks and apology and all, but she fell asleep in the middle of it.

ooOOoo

"Good morning!" Eirene said as Morgan emerged from the tent.

Judging from the sun and the activity in the clan buildings, it was probably close to midday.

"Or afternoon, I suppose. How are you, Eirene?"

"I am well. Jina is speaking with King Edmund and Master Roblang. She should be along shortly."

Morgan stumbled to the washing rooms. A Centauress was too large to fit in them. Eirene then steered her to the kitchen which was out of doors this time of year. The Dwarfs there were very kind, asked about the accountings and if she thought they would be able to arrange the supply contract with the Mine. Those were the sorts of queries clients often made and she knew how to sound optimistic (which she was) but not over-promise.

Mrs. Duffle finally chased everyone away, gave Morgan a roll stuffed with egg and cheese, and a mug of tea and told her to go somewhere quiet to eat.

She followed Eirene to a favorite place by the Chipping. There were some flat rocks and the grass grew tall there so it was easy for the Centauress to graze.

Morgan settled on a rock. She knew she was sitting under a Dryad because the branches of the Tree shifted to give her a little shade.

"Thank you," she said to the Tree.

Across the stream, she saw a family of Foxes. The three Kits were learning to talk so there were pitched yelps, jabbering, and babble. The parents looked, she thought, a little harried.

"Did you have a nice visit with your family?" Morgan asked Eirene.

"I did!" Eirene spoke between careful mouthfuls of grass. "Grandsire has asked if you and King Edmund might come and visit the herd after we leave here. They are all very excited to meet you."

"That's very nice of them. I would love to meet them." When a Narnian spoke so, Morgan had always felt that she should say something deprecating about how there was nothing special about her. She was coming to see that that wasn't the right thing to say because there always an argument about it and it made the Narnians defensive.

Morgan finished the roll and brushed the crumbs from her lap. The birds hopped down from the branch above to peck at them. _When did I learn to tell the difference between a dumb and Talking Bird?_

Morgan drank the rest of her tea and then studied the empty earthenware mug. It was sized for a Dwarfs hands so it was slightly smaller. It was just a cup but was still perfectly proportioned, smooth, and painted bright, cheerful colours of yellow and orange. They used a special glaze that kept the heat inside the mug and you didn't burn your hands on the outside.

"Eirene?"

"Yes?" The Centauress moved forward and stood next to her. "Something troubles you."

"Yes, a little. Why is everyone so happy to see me? Why are they so glad?"

Eirene stomped. "Surely you know the answer to that, Morgan."

"Partly, but I don't think the fact that they are happy for King Edmund and his Baker, Banker, and Lady explains it all. There's something else. It's …" she fumbled for the word.

"Relief," Eirene said. "The Narnians are relieved."

Once Eirene said it, the truth landed with a horrid thud as she considered all those fond smiles and beaming countenances. "They look at me and their King and see little Princes and Princesses."

"That's not all, Morgan," Eirene said. "We all see how happy you both are and that Aslan himself approves of you. You help Narnia. Not all of them understand how, but many do, like the Dwarfs here."

"I know. But I don't understand why _so much_ relief. I'm concerned about Narnia's future, too. But one of the Four could have a child with another Narnian, a Dryad or Near-Human. Frank and Helen's line grew that way, from the stories. Regents could be appointed."

"But that's not a Human succession, Morgan."

_Human? Was that what Mrs. Duffle had meant?_

"Why is being Human so important?"

"There are many reasons," Eirene replied. "There is a strong feeling, especially among the Beasts and Birds, that Narnia is never right but when a Son of Adam or Daughter of Eve sits on the throne."

"That was even in the story Jina told."

"Yes. And for those of us who are older, who lived during the Long Winter, we remember that the Witch used that belief as the basis for her false authority."

Morgan had never heard this part of the story and it was beginning to make more sense. "Jadis wasn't Human?"

"No. None of us had ever seen a Human before but once I saw Jadis next to the Four in Aslan's camp, it was obvious." Eirene swished away a fly and they watched as the Fox parents herded their protesting Kits from the streambank having already had to fish two of them out of the water. "In a few generations, I think Narnians will accept, as you say, offspring of a Monarch and a Near-Human. But not yet."

"The Four saved you," Morgan said. "Because they were Human."

"By Aslan's will. And because of who they are, and who they have become, to be sure." Eirene smiled. "They were all so young and so very, very brave. At Beruna, I saw Jadis turn my Grandsire to stone and some of the good Dwarfs who are here and so many others. She would have turned me but the King Edmund broke through the line protecting her and smashed her wand."

_Wandbreaker. The broken wand was on Harold… Edmund's banner. _

"King Edmund was terribly wounded. But the day was won and Queen Lucy cured him."

It all seemed so distant and abstract from the comfort of the Lone Islands, Tashbaan, and even Anvard. What was on his banner stood for something very, horribly real. He had been a child. Aslan had sent children into battle against a Witch and her army and they'd nearly died. Was this what Narnia did to children? What Aslan did to them?

"Have you been in many battles?"

"I have. I've been in the Army since before we had one. We protect those who cannot fight."

_Like me._

Morgan could not imagine it. The only death she had known was the usual old age, disease, childbirth, and accident. She had never seen a violent death. She shivered.

"You are unsettled." Eirene set a hand on her shoulder and rubbed it. It always felt vaguely more like what a Horse would do then a Human. "I am sorry, Morgan. Distressing you was not my intent."

"No, I asked. I wanted to know. I appreciate your perspective."

Jina was her best friend but she was young compared to a Centauress and a Hound's wisdom came from what she sensed and felt. Eirene was both a soldier and a mage and her knowledge came from deep study and long years lived.

"Would you like me to comb your hair?" Eirene asked.

"That would be nice, thank you." Morgan turned on the rock to face the water and handed Eirene the comb from her pocket. "Do you do this for other Centaurs in your herd?"

"We do! My sister and I both. I miss it. It's not something you would think a soldier would do, but for a sister or a friend, it is very soothing for both of us."

"When we go back to Cair Paravel, I will have to see how Jezebel the Beaver is getting on with her hair dressing. "

"I will leave the bows to her," Eirene replied with a laugh.

Morgan closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of Eirene's hands smoothing and combing her hair and the sounds of the water. She though the Dryad overhead was singing softly. She should probably cut her hair when they returned to Cair Paravel. Mrs. Furner would probably insist. She was likely looking untidy after so long on the road. Seth's criticisms were not far off the mark. She was Banker still, but something very Narnian had taken root as well.

Eirene was tying down the braid when Jina trotted up. "Good afternoon!" She sounded very happy. "That looks very well, Eirene."

The Centauress patted Morgan's hair down with satisfaction. "Very nice, if I do say so myself. Jina, is the King Edmund available?"

"He is, and probably will soon be on his way here!"

"I shall catch him before he does then. I would like to speak with him about my Grandsire's invitation."

"Thank you!" Morgan called as Eirene trotted off.

Morgan slid off the rock to the ground, rubbed Jina's ears, and accepted a kiss. They didn't sniff each other the way other Dogs would.

"You seem happy," Morgan said. "What were you discussing with Harold and Roblang?"

Jina rubbed her head along Morgan's arm and then sat. "I needed their opinion and advice. I am thinking that I wish to have a litter of Puppies with Rufus."

It didn't happen very often but occasionally, Morgan would feel truly off balance in realizing she was speaking not with a Human but with a Hound. _Puppies._

"Really! That's… I had no idea you were thinking of that!" This was not like the water dogs in Narrowhaven, she reminded herself firmly. Jina's Puppies were not _puppies_; they were _babies_.

"I should be going into heat within the next two months, though it has been less regular as I've aged. Rufus is willing if I wish it. He is an excellent sire. We are very proud of our last litter."

"Rafiqa _is_ wonderful," Morgan agreed. She'd been terrible at this sort of discussion with women; she hoped she could do better by Jina. "And you do not seem old to me at all. Have you had many other litters before?"

"I have had four litters, at least five Puppies each time, and three still births. Master Roblang reminded me that I can expect that at my age, so it is not without some risk."

_Still births._ In Humans, _miscarriages_. Miscarriages were awful, bloody, and terrible. They were also frequent among the Bankers. The House physicians said it was because the Banking practices weren't healthy for babies and mothers.

Jina looked at her carefully, bringing her nose close to Morgan's face and putting a paw on her leg. "You are part of this decision, Morgan. I could not be your guard while I am whelping. You would need another. Would you object to that?"

The off-balance feeling hit her again. Morgan had had conversations very like this before, with junior bankers who were ill during pregnancy, who needed to reduce their duties, and those who had to take time for maternity until wet nurses could be found. She'd always been annoyed by the requests even as she granted them. "For the good of the House; for the future of Linch," her Director – _father_ – would say proudly.

And now her best friend and helpmate, who was more valuable and necessary than any junior of her House, wanted her permission for a leave of absence. Morgan tried. She really did.

"Of course, Jina! Puppies would be wonderful!"

Jina sighed. "You are unhappy, Morgan. I'm sorry. I know that you concern yourself with avoiding Puppies – children – but I have enjoyed being a mother very much. Now that you have come to know Rafiqa, surely you understand why. I am very proud of my daughter."

Morgan felt terribly that her selfishness was hurting Jina. "I do see it, Jina! Rafiqa is wonderful. You are obviously a wonderful mother and it is important for you. And Narnia is better with more Hounds like you and Rufus!" She meant all these things, she did. It was just the thought of being without Jina that hurt.

"I had hoped you would understand. When you see my daughter, don't you ever think that having Puppies for yourself is a good thing?" Jina asked.

Morgan nervously turned the comb over in her hands. "I have to, eventually. I owe that to my House."

"Your House?" Jina asked. She pulled back, sounding surprised, and growled a little. "You would wish Puppies there? You still assume you will mate with Alan Meryl?"

"Well…" Alan had become more and more distant, even repellant.

Jina's brow scrunched up. "I know that the Bankers rear good children for you were the result but all that work and money and such that you do isn't good for Puppies or mothers." Jina was sounding very tetchy and Morgan couldn't very well disagree.

"It's what I'm supposed to do," Morgan said. It sounded weak, though. Jina knew how to ask questions that Morgan wasn't able to counter well. The Hound wasn't manipulative; she was just so wonderfully honest it was impossible for Morgan to avoid her logic.

Jina growled. "You should only have Puppies if you really want them. Would you really want to have a Puppy with Alan Meryl? Really?"

"Alan is a good man," Morgan said, knowing she was being an utter hypocrite.

"Alan is not cruel, I agree," Jina said. "I'm sure he would be an excellent mate and father for Constance Meryl. But you don't want to mate with him and he doesn't want to mate with you, either."

"Well, wanting doesn't have anything to do with it. When I take the Directorship of a House, it's expected, for the good of the House, for our succession."

"If that is your only reason for having a Puppy, it's a terrible one, Morgan. You feel no joy in it, only duty. And if succession is the only thing that matters to you, Narnia needs heirs, too."

"I know that!" Morgan retorted.

As twisted as it was, Seth had the right of it. Morgan had invested the Linch portfolio in Narnia. And then there were the Narnians themselves who were so anxious for Human rule after the terror of Jadis. They would all be devastated if the reign of the Four ended without heirs.

Aslan couldn't do that to them. Could he? Or, were they being Foolish Fauns in ignoring that possibility? Was that his warning to her?

"Jina, you can't mean me. Not for Narnia."

Jina put her head on Morgan's lap. Morgan's tears dripped on to the Hound's domed head.

"I'm sorry. This was supposed to be a happy discussion and I am scolding you. If you do not want to have Puppies, then you should not, either for your House or for Narnia." Jina raised her nose to nuzzle Morgan's ears and lick away her tears.

"I understand why it might be frightening, but you dismiss yourself as unsuitable and you should not. You and King Edmund were both wonderful with Corin. You have been very kind to the smaller Beasts and the Narnian children you have met. You were a very popular teacher in Narrowhaven. Should you and King Edmund wish it, I think you would be an excellent mother."

But that wasn't all. "Jina, I don't want a child to be like me."

She was so long in answering, Morgan thought Jina couldn't answer that question anymore than Aslan had.

"And I think that a Puppy just like you would be a wonderful thing, Morgan."

ooOOoo

Edmund waited.

His intellect, cheered at the thought of spending a night with Morgan and accounting records, found someone in the kitchens who could make coffee to sustain their effort. He then set off to the stream where Eirene had said Morgan was. Grumbling at the prospect of a night with numbers, ledgers, and candle wax, his imagination was hoping to first lure Morgan away for the promised, deferred performance on Six, Eight, Eighteen, or all three. Some other part of him, neither wholly intellect nor imagination, that he could not yet name but that had been becoming more prominent and seemed tied to ephemeral-emotional-something, was concerned because Morgan was going to be upset over Jina's news. He decided to help and his imagination was shoved aside, grumbling, but with very little effort.

"I could have told you Morgan was at the stream," Jalur complained. "But you went to Eirene first and didn't even ask."

_Poor Tiger._ He was still upset, both over the lack of dumb otter and their long separation. A clingy, emotional Tiger was unsettling.

"As Morgan is still at the stream, perhaps you would like to go swimming, my Guard?"

"It isn't deep enough," Jalur grumbled. "And there are no otters or Otters there. I checked." He was determined to not be pleased.

"Is there somewhere you would like to go, Jalur? Something you would like to do?"

Jalur lashed his tail and narrowed his yellow eyes. "You are acting suspiciously. Is there something wrong?" He lifted his head and inhaled, searching about the path that was taking them from the outbuildings to the stream. "Is there a threat? Is something wrong? Is there something dangerous to your person I must eat?"

"Jalur?"

"My King?"

"I shall do everything in power to ensure that you travel with me on all foreign visits in the future. And when we return to Cair Paravel, you may take the duty of my Night Guard if you wish."

Jalur let out a little mewling rumble. He lowered his head and permitted Edmund to rub his tufted ear.

"I think Morgan will have difficulty with a temporary guard while Jina is whelping. I know I would have difficulty and greatly missed you during my time in the Lone Islands."

Jalur rubbed his head up against Edmund's chest so suddenly and strongly, he nearly fell over.

Morgan was sitting where the grass sloped down to the stream. Jina had her head in Morgan's lap.

"King Edmund!" Jina said, rising to her feet.

Confirming his concern, it seemed Morgan had been crying. Her face was wet and blotchy. She held out her hand, an invitation to join her on the grass. His imagination was shouting _Eight Eight Eight. _Edmund pushed it aside. _Not relevant._

He sat next to her. "Are you well?"

"Fine. Friends!" Morgan called out. "Your King and his Banker request privacy. Please move away."

"Morgan?" Jina asked, sounding very worried.

Morgan put her hand on the Hound's head. "It is well, Jina, truly. Congratulations. I will speak to Rafiqa."

"Your Majesty?" Jalur asked.

Edmund nodded. "Go with Jina, please. You may observe, but please do not eavesdrop."

For his part, Edmund was surprised that Morgan made such a request and with such easy command – she was coming into her own authority in Narnia. Jalur and Jina both fell back; the Dryads nearby shifted away, downstream, and he saw no Naiad in the waters flowing by.

True privacy was probably only possible with Aslan, but this was better than the usual – at least their curious subjects would be disobeying an order which might give them pause. He sat closer and put an arm around her shoulders.

"Jina told you." Edmund said in a whisper.

Morgan nodded.

It all came out in a blurted rush. "I'm being selfish. I don't want to let her go. Rafiqa is lovely, but she isn't Jina. Please don't scold me. I would never tell her no, but I don't like it and she's sensitive enough to know that."

"Becoming accustomed to a new Guard _is_ difficult, Morgan. But I speak from experience in saying you do adjust to the change."

She turned a comb in her hands. "I hadn't thought of it before, but I suppose you have been through Guard changes."

"Not many, but they have happened. Dalia resigned as Guard in favor of Fooh and Beehn. And…" Even now it was difficult to speak of it. "And Jalur is my second Guard after Merle died."

"Died?" Her voice sounded very small.

"It is a long and hard story," Edmund said, speaking more quietly still. "It distresses both Jalur and me to speak of it, so might I tell you of it some other, more appropriate, time?"

She tightened her hold and nodded into his shoulder. "I don't want to hear sad stories now."

"And this one today is not a sad story, Morgan, but a very happy one that ends with Jina returning to your side. Your friend wants this very much and I know it would mean a great deal to her and Rufus to have you about when she whelps."

"I'll try," Morgan said after a long pause. "But I need to go back to Narrowhaven."

He stiffened and a breath caught in his chest. Again? So soon? Edmund felt a bite of angry hurt and he beat it back, recalling Aslan's words.

_Trust her._

"There must be a very good reason for that decision?"

She nodded. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Turned the comb nervously about in her hands.

Edmund waited.

"I need to consult with my father. And with Meryl."

_Meryl. Alan Meryl?_

_Trust her._

"What about?" he prodded.

"About renegotiating my courtship agreement with Narnia."

"But you must consult with them to do it? Travel all the way to Narrowhaven? You did enter it into it on your behalf the first time. Surely you have sufficient authority now?"

She turned in his arms, ran her fingers through his hair, and cupped her hand under his jaw. Morgan drew her lip between her teeth.

_Trust her. These are not the actions of anger or betrayal._

"I think the circumstances have evolved to exceed the original parameters of the courtship agreement, Harold."

"Certainly the duration," he agreed.

"More than that. Its original scope and intent were far more limited than…"

She swallowed and her eyes darted away, over his shoulder, to some middle distance behind them.

"I agree that it is too limited for what has since evolved between us," Edmund finished for her.

"And…"

For this, he waited. The words had to come from Morgan herself. He let her eyes wander, let her fingers nervously tap on his shoulder.

"And the agreement should be revised to reflect our relationship going forward…" Morgan took a deep breath. "For when I return. Permanently."

* * *

To Follow, Chapter 18, Many Happy Returns,

* * *

Thank you for reading. I do hope you will share your thoughts. And now, on to the NFE. Thank you so much.


	18. Many Happy Returns

**Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance**  
Chapter 18, Many Happy Returns

In which Morgan is a boat and Harold is a Dwarf.

* * *

My apologies for the long delay, hopefully made up for by the length of the chapter. More on that below.

Like the previous two chapters, I am finding that though the content is less _wink, wink, salacious_, the issues and discussions have become more adult. This is grown-up stuff about love, compromise, duty, and how two individuals, one with poor emotional intelligence and the other with neurological/psycho-social impairment, learn to communicate and take their place as a bonded, married couple in a greater community.

The first scene was first written from Peter's point of view in Chapter 15, _Folly_, of _The Queen Susan In Tashbaan_.

Also, boats, Otters, and a Porcupine.

* * *

It was very stuffy in the High King's office. Morgan wondered why he didn't open the windows. Pollen wasn't a problem now, so late in the season. The High King had his leg propped up on a stool. Beehn was in the corner sleeping, as always. Fooh had taken the prime, sunny space on the rug. Some people had problems telling them apart but Morgan thought they just weren't very observant. Fooh had a far denser pattern of spots across his chest than Beehn did. She'd calculated it once and…

Jina nudged Morgan with her nose.

"So…" she began.

The High King looked up at her and Morgan flinched. Why did the High King of Narnia affect her this way? Other heads of state didn't bother her like this. She'd probably met more of them than he had, or at least gone deeper into their hierarchies. He was so different than Harold. He was so … _big_. He even breathed loudly. And when he was in a room it always seemed cramped.

Morgan felt Jina bump into her. _He's just like every other ruler. I took apart the Stanleh at Conclave with 100 people watching._

"Perhaps as you rehearsed it, Morgan?" Jina said. "Though you could certainly dispense with the introductions as the High King and his Guard all know who you are."

Jina's interruption was annoying. The introduction always let her find a nice rhythm for her presentation and now she'd be expected to skip it.

"You were going to give me recommendations on the investment of our monies in a Calormene silver mine at the petition of Master Duffle and his kin?" the High King said.

Why couldn't anyone keep this straight? "Yes, though no, it's really a capital infusion on very favorable terms," Morgan countered.

"And I asked for your assessment of this mine venture?"

"Yes, Sir," Morgan repeated.

"And that assessment is now complete and you have a recommendation?"

"Yes, Sir."

This was all basic and if he would stop talking, Morgan could give her presentation. Though, she hadn't been sure _which _presentation would be best. Was the High King a top-line, _give it to me in one page_ sort of person, the way most heads of state were? So many of them didn't read anything. Or, would he want the very detailed analysis that would have them there until sundown? That was the one she would want, the one her Director would expect, particularly for something so novel for Narnia. The Finance Ministers and Exchequers were usually somewhere between _no stone unturned, please_, and _we compensate you to do this for us, so summarize which rocks we could stumble upon or that could land on top of us and that we will blame you for if you don't tell us about, and move on_.

She glanced at his desk and saw the report she had prepared for him. It was creased and marked upon, with bold notes scribbled on top and corners bent over. So he _had_ read it and apparently all the way through. She wished she had known earlier that the High King would read.

"Banker Morgan?"

"Sir?"

"Mrs. Furner would throw me to the tender mercies of our prickly Physician if I move my leg unnecessarily. Would you please put your presentation down in front of me so that I might review what you recommend as you speak on it?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, startling. "Yes, I suppose I can do that for your convenience." She almost said "_But if you took Lucy's cordial, you wouldn't be so cantankerous_," but Morgan knew Jina would growl at her for saying so. The High King had growled at both Harold and Lucy when they had pleaded with him to take the cordial.

Morgan shuffled over to the High King's desk and spread her papers out next to his marked-up report. The High King leaned over and glanced quickly down the columns. The Bankers who had seen him in Tashbaan last year had been surprised to discover that though he was a warrior, he was not a stupid one.

"Thank you. Please continue your summary."

Continue? _How?_ He wanted her to start talking in the middle. Where was that middle? Where was her thread? She never lost numbers. _Words._ She lost words all the time and had to scrabble about on the floor looking for them.

Morgan forced her attention back to the page on the desk. In her head, she started at the beginning of the words as she had rehearsed them and raced through them. When she got to the page on the desk, she threw up a wall to stop it. _There._

"You have in front of you the report from Lucy, _Queen_ Lucy," she said. Lucy's report had been very good, but not concise. Morgan had had to edit it. "And the intelligence and surveillance report by Lady Willa and Harah the Crow Hen." They had each signed the dictated report, Willa with a paw print and Harah with a toe claw mark.

He was nodding, which probably meant he'd read the background reports as well and wasn't bothered by them. She wasn't either but this was the beginning of the analysis. "Any questions, sir?"

"No. I read them and had no concerns. Did you see anything worrisome I should be apprised of?"

"No, Sir."

"Then please continue, Banker Morgan."

Now, it was time to get down to putting Narnian money and reputation at risk to invest in a Calormene operation.

"Lucy's report includes the requests of the Langour Mine for certain equipment which would allow them to increase capacity in order to supply the expansion plans of the Red Dwarf clan…."

But he interrupted her. "And your recommendation is?"

Morgan stared at the High King. _That was it? Already?_ She'd hardly said much at all. The High King trusted her that much? That was flattering, but was it wise?

"Now," Jina emphasized and added a shove with her nose into Morgan's side.

_Fine._

"I recommend the capital infusion option three, as set out on page twelve, fourth paragraph."

The High King turned the page of his own report and Morgan saw that he had circled the same recommendation.

"Very good, I concur."

_No, definitely not stupid at all. _

"What of the slavery practiced in the South? No Narnian money may be used in such an endeavor."

She nearly chortled at her own cleverness and foresight. She had _known_ the High King was going to ask about this. She'd spent days analyzing the issue, first with Seth, then with Harold and then had had Seth review their work independently – and he'd done a really thorough job of it, too. She had a whole separate presentation prepared.

Morgan quickly moved the paper about on the desk, going to her slavery analysis and really happy that she had anticipated him and could present such impressive work for the High King. "Lucy, Willa, and Harah said they didn't see any…" she began.

"Yes, I know," the High King said. "I read it as well. What is _your_ judgment, Banker Morgan?"

"They opened up their books to me, Sir. Unless they are total fabrication, not borne out by my other analyses, this operation is not run like a slave business. The business model under which it operates is totally different…"

He held up a hand for her to stop, Jina shoved her in the side, and Morgan bit back her disappointment. It was such a strong piece of work – she'd recommend her father use it as a case study for training the juniors, maybe even present it at Conclave...

"I am prepared to authorize the …"

"Capital infusion," she supplied, not being able to tolerate its continuing mischaracterization.

"Banker Morgan!" Jina growled.

_Right._ Jina didn't like it when she interrupted the other Monarchs. Still, wasn't interrupting better than letting them say something that was incorrect?

"Sorry, Sir," Morgan muttered.

"I am prepared to authorize the capital infusion on the condition _we_ monitor the mine to confirm that they remain slavery-free. Write it into the agreements, obtain what oversight is necessary, and know that we understand a lower return will result. Narnia will not be party to slavery and if we must make an example of this silver mine to our other trading partners should they violate the agreement, _We Shall_."

There were an awful lot of royal _We's_ in that speech. Maybe he had rehearsed it, too.

She nodded. "I have some thoughts on how to accomplish that, Sir. We could…"

"Prepare a report with your recommendations, Banker Morgan. You have my authorization to recruit what assistance you need."

If he had delegated this much authority to anyone else without any independent oversight, she would think the High King was being lax. Now that she was watching out for them, anyone trying to take economic advantage of Narnia would have to get past _her_ first, and well, Otters would be polite before _that_ ever happened.

"What is the budget, Sir?"

"Take the budget up with Susan. Otherwise, this _is_ why we have retained your House, Banker Morgan. If the costs of monitoring for compliance erase the return we anticipate, then it is obviously a bad investment of our funds and we should cut our losses. This is discretionary spending, the Dwarfs managed for hundreds of years without this special ore, and I won't have Narnia throwing good money after bad anymore than seeing our funds used to support activity Narnia cannot in conscience support."

There was a whole philosophy of governance and expenditure embedded in that direction. "I understand, Sir."

"Thank you. Anything else?"

She didn't want to raise it, but she had to. Because if the High King or the Queen Susan didn't do something about this, she and Harold were going to have to do so, and that wasn't a conversation Morgan was looking forward to having.

_What can come to Narnia can leave the same way._

"No, Sir. I do have one other matter, though…"

But before she could say more, Jina spoke up. "The Queen Susan comes, High King, with her Guard."

Fooh growled. Beehn didn't wake up.

"Excellent!" Morgan said. At least she would not have to endure this misery twice. "Since you both are here, we can discuss it at the same time!"

Jina trotted over to the door. "Banker Morgan, would you open the door for the Queen Susan? She has willow bark tea for the High King."

"Oh!" Of course the High King couldn't move very well since he was refusing Lucy's cordial. "Certainly. I'm sorry." Morgan hurried to the door and threw it open.

Lambert came in first and Queen Susan followed behind him with a tray. Queen Susan had only returned yesterday from the overland trip to Telmar. Narnia had done very well in those negotiations, better than Morgan would have expected. There were some very intricate agreements and Morgan had definitely seen a Calormene sophistication in them and wondered who had been responsible for it.…

"Good afternoon, Banker Morgan," Queen Susan said. "Do not dare get up to help me, brother." She put her tray down on a clear corner of the desk and handed a cup to the High King. "This is for you to drink. All of it."

Morgan watched to see what Fooh would do once Lambert entered the room. Beehn would sleep right through it all and didn't care but Fooh and Lambert were still subtly jostling for the sunny space on the rug. Lambert would prevail this round but she had wagers down in the Murder that Fooh would be holding his ground against Jalur and Briony within a 10-day. Lambert would take longer.

Queen Susan sat in a chair. "You wished to discuss something with us, Banker Morgan?"

Lambert must have been listening in and had told her before they came into the room. She picked up her page of notes and took a deep breath. "I wanted to tell you that when I was back in Narrowhaven, I went through our own accounts and have identified promising marital prospects for each of you."

"I see," Queen Susan said.

There was one of those long silences Morgan knew was a bad sign.

"We thank you for your assistance, Banker Morgan, but the Queen Susan and I both decline your advice in this matter."

"Oh." She had to try, one more time, because if she didn't... "Well, perhaps I should just go over a few of them with you. There are some excellent marriageable individuals and the House of Linch is most eager to see Narnia stabilize the succession."

And surely they knew how important it was to their own subjects? Hadn't the last Council meeting shown that?

"Thank you, Banker Morgan, but to repeat, while the High King and I both understand very well the concerns you pose, we prefer our own judgment in matters of marriage and succession, not those of our Bankers."

"Perhaps Queen Lucy is more receptive to your suggestions?"

The High King was just having one on her. _Of course_ she had discussed it with Lucy first. Did they think she was an idiot?

Jina added, "My King and Queen, Banker Morgan did approach Queen Lucy."

"Lucy chased me out of the room with a knife," Morgan said. "And Briony said she would bite me if I raised it again."

It had all been in good humour and they'd laughed about it. Still, Morgan wasn't going to shirk her responsibility to Narnia, even if they all were. Why had securing the future become _her_ responsibility? She had been raised knowing her duty to her House was, well, _her duty_. What was wrong with them?

_What can come to Narnia can leave the same way._

Morgan shoved the options paper back into the folder. That was that. She was disappointed in them.

"I suggest that you approach King Edmund with your list of courtship prospects," Queen Susan said.

_Over my dead body._

"Perhaps our brother would also like to review your recommendations on the Calormene mine?" Peter added.

They were baiting her, but she and Harold needed to talk regardless. "Oh, yes, I'm sure he would! I want his thoughts on the representations and warranties in the capitalization agreement."

She gathered up the rest of her papers and left, closing the door behind her. She went as fast as she could, away and down the hall, but she was still close enough to hear the High King and Queen Susan laughing.

At her side, Jina said, "I told you that you should not have raised it, Morgan. I know it is important, but now was not the time."

"Is there ever a good time?" Morgan said.

Jina sighed, which Morgan took as tacit agreement. "And I know what you are thinking!" She ran her hand along Jina's gently swelling belly. Her pregnancy had only just begun to show.

"And what is that?" If she could smile, Jina would be.

"That we Humans always make complicated what is very simple."

As they came out of the hallway and into the Palace's entry, she spied a Crow on an overhead beam watching them closely. What were they betting on now? He was young and she didn't know him. It was strange, to have been in Narnia long enough to see young born.

There was light clip of hooves on stone and Mr. Hoberry emerged from the hallway leading to the domestic wing of the Palace. "You there! Crow! Back to the Roost!" the Faun scolded. "Whatever your wager, you will do it outside!"

There was rude _pfbbbt_ sound and the Crow abandoned his perch and flew out the front doors.

"Good afternoon, Banker Morgan, Jina." Mr. Hoberry held out a basket he, of course, was carrying, as he always anticipated every need. "May I take your work to your office?"

How did he always know exactly when to arrive? Did Mr. Hoberry and Mrs. Furner have their own network of Rats and Crows within the Palace?

"Thank you, yes, please."

She handed him her pile of out-of-order notes and folder. The pages would, under Mr. Hoberry's management, be neatly arranged and deftly returned to her office. The Faun would be a terrific clerk although she understood that Harold wanted him as a diplomat, the High King wanted him for logistics support in the Army, Lucy wanted him as a dancing partner, and they all had to petition Queen Susan to release him as head of housekeeping, which she steadfastly refused to do.

"King Edmund has survived his drilling with Sir Leszi," Mr. Hoberry said.

"And is now bathing his wounds in the pond?"

"Yes, and while the swordmaster did not do permanent damage, I am less confident that King Edmund would survive the Otters."

"I had best get down there," Morgan said. "If the Otters find a way to arm themselves, we'll have civil war within a ten-day."

ooOOoo

Edmund was treading water in the pond and watching the drama unfold on shore. Jalur and Jina were growling and circling with hair raised and teeth bared. From the roars and barks of earlier, he thought both had been bitten. Now, though, the Otters were standing on their haunches to speak to Morgan, who had squatted down in the grass to get eye-to-eye with them. He couldn't hear what she was saying but she was pointing toward the wood.

It had become very bleak in the pond. There wasn't anything left – no fish or frogs, even the birds had left. What the Otters had not eaten, they had driven away. They were too large, voracious, and aggressive for this small space. The Otters needed to move to a different location. Ettinsmoor, Edmund decided. Or, perhaps the furthest southern reaches of Calormen. Maybe the bottom of the Eastern Sea.

There was a torrent of profanity and then the Otters bounded off into the wood. It had reached the point that the Orange Lady was the only one who could get them to do anything. As Aslan had said, Morgan had a role in Narnia apart from her relationship with its King. Otter Wrangling was one of her new duties.

Morgan waved to him and then said something to Jalur and Jina. Their Guards turned away from her and walked up the hill to the top of the bowl, evidently following her order. Morgan was not awarded the deference reserved for Monarch alone, but there was no question that the Narnians also recognized her authority. It was less than what she had in the Lone Islands – that was unavoidable – but it was far more than it had been a year ago.

Morgan went to the old birch tree, not a Birch, and sat down. So, she wanted to be alone and was probably waiting for him to join her. To discuss her presentation to Peter? Or the other matter, which they had broached at the Duffle clan hold and not talked of again?

He dove, touched bottom, kicked his way to the surface, and waded to the shore. The Otters had not stolen his towel or the clean change of clothes Mr. Hoberry had left. There were tears in the shirt he had worn for training and when Mrs. Furner scolded him, Edmund would blame Sir Hairy the Horrible.

"And the verdict?" he called, pulling his trousers on. His imagination was disappointed at this direction but Edmund had been finding it easier to pummel the reprobate into a better understanding that it did not all have to be _right now_. What had become less frequent had also, when it did occur, become more enjoyable and ..._meaningful?_ _Did that even make sense?_ The whole of him had been very satisfied with the change.

"The High King had come to the same recommendation I did." She did sound pleased.

"So Peter approved the capitalization agreement?" There had been no question in his own mind, though given his own and Morgan's involvement, the venture needed another's review. Lucy had done the site visit and Susan had only just returned from Telmar, so Peter would have to have the final say. Cumbersome, but it was a sensible division of labour.

"Yes!" Morgan said. "We discussed monitoring, too. That part went well."

Edmund gathered up the damp and dirty things, jogged over to Morgan, and sat next to her on the grass. He was still dripping and pulled the clean shirt on. "You really can call him Peter now."

Morgan pulled up some grass stems and shrugged. "I need to prepare a budget for the compliance and oversight and present it to Queen Susan."

"You can call her Susan, too."

Morgan looked up from her study of the shredded grass. Her eyes went over his shoulder and she pulled her lip between her teeth. This was a very ill beginning.

"Morgan?"

"I think I'm the boat."

"What boat?"

"The boat in the story, of course!"

"Don't snap at me, Morgan! I am not privy to your thoughts."

"The Foolish Faun! The Dwarf comes in a rowboat to save the Faun from drowning and he doesn't get in because he thinks Aslan will save him!"

"And you think you are the boat in the story?" Edmund asked, now understanding her reference but utterly bewildered as to the context.

"Yes! And all the Narnians think I'm Narnia's boat, too."

_Boats._

Edmund reined in his annoyance. "I see that you are preoccupied with the _Tale of the Foolish Faun_ and the instruction that Aslan expects us to act without waiting upon him to deliver us."

Morgan nodded vigorously. "Yes!"

He put a hand to her face and tried to capture her gaze. Her eyes slid away but he did have her attention. "However, I do not see how you leapt from a successful accounting meeting with Peter about a silver mine to being a rowboat."

Morgan sighed into his hand, turned her head and kissed his palm. "I'm sorry. Thank you for being patient with me." She laced his fingers in hers and brought them down to her lap.

"After the meeting, I tried to present the marriage prospects to them."

He wasn't going to laugh at her – not given how miserably she spoke. Gently, he said, "Morgan, I know you mean well, but that is not your place."

Her head shot up and she yanked her hands back. "Of course it is! I'm Narnia's Banker! I've invested my House in Narnia's future. And even if I hadn't, I care about what happens! You all _have_ to resolve this."

"We care as well. And there _are_ _Four_ of us." He wanted to be patient with her. "Even if Aslan does call one of us home, it would be terrible, but Narnia would not be leaderless."

"You all came to Narnia by Magic! You don't even remember where you are from! You don't know what will happen! And your subjects don't know either!"

This was her fear speaking and its source was easy to see. At the last Council meeting, a Dryad had proposed that the Monarchs simply pollinate one another as the trees do and produce multiple saplings. For a Dryad, this was perfectly reasonable; for others it was outrageous and angrily denounced. That it had been raised at all showed the unease that still persisted. The line of Frank and Helen had died in Narnia and Jadis had come. Succession and heirs were important.

"Morgan, Aslan wouldn't…"

"Don't rely on Aslan!" Morgan sounded very angry and she poked him in the shoulder with a finger. "Your subjects aren't! They waited over a century for Aslan, starving, in the cold. Don't be the Foolish Faun."

His patience was wearing thin. "You are taking too much upon yourself. You usurp our role."

"_Our_ role?" Morgan replied. "It seems to me you've pushed all responsibility for a stable succession plan on to your brother and sister."

"I have done no such thing!"

Except he didn't need Morgan's scoff to know his denial was half-hearted. Edmund had managed the contracts, the negotiations, and the diplomacy of the visits and, at every opportunity, had shoved the actual business of courtship and suitors on to Peter or Susan.

He sighed and admitted the truth. "You are right, Morgan. And…" It was time to own up to what he had done so recently. "And you are also right that I can no longer evade the responsibility. I did reaffirm Frank and Helen's oath in the Meadowlawn."

Her anger went out with an exhale. "It's _your_ duty, and that makes it _mine_, too. The Narnians all know that I'm the closest they have ever come to seeing even the possibility of a real continuation of your family's line. After so long, they see no prospect of anyone else _but_ you and me."

A breeze stirred the tree and a few leaves fluttered down. Last year, nearly at this time, they had considered having Morgan stay longer. And then they had sailed off to Narrowhaven and the discussion had ended there. Now…

"So if you are the boat, I suppose that makes me the Dwarf rowing it." He put his arm around her and Morgan rested her head on his shoulder. "But where are we going?"

"Continue the metaphor and we go right over a waterfall and out to sea."

Was the future that grim for them? For that matter, when had they become a _we_, a _them_, a yoked pair? None of the individual events that had brought them to this point had seemed linked or inevitable at the time; now it seemed as if one had led inexorably to another.

"Morgan, I know you said before you wished to stay. But do think carefully. You will give up so much."

"I know."

That was not what he wanted to hear, but it was honest and uniquely Morgan. Showing that she, too, had learned, Morgan put a gentle hand to his shoulder, saying with touch what he now knew would come later in words if he just gave her the opportunity to capture them_. _

"I lose things but I gain things, too … Edmund… Important things," she said. "But what about you? This isn't what you wanted, either, is it?"

"It is not what I expected, Morgan. Even when I went to Anvard, I had no plan greater than a hope that you would return and stay until you were called elsewhere."

"Oh…" She toyed with the cuff of his sleeve and worried a loose thread between her fingers.

"Morgan, I will wait until you can speak what you wish to say."

"You…"

_Patience._

"It's not."

Then, suddenly, the sluice gate opened and the words flooded out. "I can do it when in the counting rooms or I'm negotiating taxes, terms, and tariffs. And there's no one better at making sure that what's in a contract is what everybody means and I'm even better at finding ways to get out of unfavourable terms. And I know when you want sex and what you want."

She turned and looked up at him, though her eyes glided past his own to focus on the tree trunk behind them.

"All those things are true, and I value you for all of them." His imagination whigned that Morgan wasn't delivering what it wanted right now; his intellect and that other thing he was still trying to name – _Emotion? Sentiment? Regard?_ – wrestled his unruly imagination into a cupboard and locked it. "Was there a question there for me, Morgan? Perhaps you omitted it?"

She scowled but it was at herself and he could see the pressure mounting within her. He clasped her hands and rubbed little circles on the top of her knuckles.

"I'm very good at certain things but usually I'm just really terrible understanding people."

"Though Jina does help you," Edmund said, trying to illustrate that he still did not understand what she was implying.

"When I said I'd stay…"

_Pause. And a longer pause still. And then the blurting._

"Didiassumetoomuch?"

"Did you what?"

She stared at the tree trunk. He wondered if her vision was like a Bird's – did Morgan see things others did not?

"Did-I-Assume-Too-Much?"

"About what?"

"About me staying!" she snapped. "I _thought_ you _wanted_ me to. If you don't, then I'll just …"

"No! That's not it at all!" Edmund retorted. If he let his anger show, it would abrogate this entire tentative understanding. "I _do_ want you to go to the Lone Islands and resolve your existing obligations and then return to me – with your autonomy intact and without impediments." _And if they won't accept your terms, I'll just sail to Narrowhaven and off Alan Meryl's head myself._

With her shocked look, Edmund almost clapped his hand over his mouth. He settled for a groan. "Oh Aslan, I just said that aloud, didn't I?"

She smiled and pulled her wandering glance away from the space beyond them to look at him. "You did. That's very gallant of you, Harold."

"If Alan challenges me to single combat on the handball court, it will go very ill for me."

Her smile faded and she looked down and away. Her hands moved restlessly over her trousers.

"My dearest Morgan?" he tilted her face up again toward his. "You are not what I ever expected, which is surely but a failure of imagination. You are…" Edmund stopped, seeing a better, more inclusive, and less selfish phrasing. "What _we_ have is most surely what _I_ want. And if you want the same…"

She nodded and slid her arms around his neck. Whatever other tender sentiments and romantic coupling that might have occurred were interrupted when the Otters appeared, filthy, swearing, and demanding that Morgan judge which of them had caught the most delicious and (mostly) dead frog.

ooOOoo

CRACK!

CRACK!

The sharp sounds of Lucy's quarterstaff on Oak Dryad limbs shook the Training Yard.

Peter shifted uncomfortably on his stool, feeling the reverberations in his back, jaw, and still aching knee. He was determined to just suck it up, knowing (and with the irritating and persistent reminders, how could he forget?) that if he would just take Lucy's cordial, he would not, _still_, be recuperating. Of course, if he'd not tried to jump from the ship docked at the quay, he would not have fallen in the harbour, slipped on rocks coming out, and banged his knee up in the first instance.

_Boats._ Lion's mane, he hated boats.

CRACK CRACK THUD SMACK

Lucy was doing marvelously against her tireless Dryad sparring partner. She was forcing the strapping Oak to give ground, no small feat. The Dryad was far stronger but Lucy was far quicker.

"Our Queen is very clever," Leszi said. The Satyr swordmaster was leaning against the same barrack wall that Peter was holding up and they were both enjoying the spectacle.

CRACK CRACK CRACK

"She is," Peter agreed. With quarterstaffs there really was no way to defeat a Dryad. Trees could be cut, burned and drowned, but with cudgels, they could not even be disarmed for the Dryad would sprout a new weapon. Lucy, though, was darting in too close for Ametza to counter, delivering hard fast blows, and forcing the Dryad back. "Those manoeuvres would not work against a younger Tree; she knows Ametza isn't so flexible anymore."

"If Queen Lucy continues drilling, she could surpass the royal-lazy-arse-gone-soft King."

"Really, Leszi, still bitter that my brother the King bested you last year and laid you up for a month?"

CRACK CRACK CRACK

Leszi's grin was fiercer and uglier than his scowl. "I'd take a piece out of him now to teach a lesson about consistent, hard training, but I don't want Banker Morgan as an enemy. The Murder says she doesn't get mad, she gets even, which I approve of unless it's applied to _me_."

That was an interesting perspective on Morgan. Peter thought it probably overstated her capacity for revenge. She always seemed so tentative around him.

Leszi nudged Peter in the shoulder. "Watch. This is how it's done."

Lucy whirled about, dodging strikes and came up behind Ametza to rain down quick, hard blows from the rear. Ametza was slowly turning to face the threat from behind but because Lucy had neatly driven her off the training ground. The Dryad had too little space and her limbs were fouled on the encircling trees – also a clever move because Lucy knew Ametza would not want to endanger her kin. Lucy brought her quarterstaff to bear and forced Ametza's cudgel down to trap it against her trunk.

"Yield," Ametza said with a quivering of leaves and lowered her branch.

Lucy dropped her quarterstaff and saluted Ametza, who bowed in turn.

Lucy spun about to look at Leszi. The Satyr pulled himself from the indolent slouch against the wall. "Better."

Lucy wiped her sweaty face with her sleeve, tossed her quarterstaff into the air and caught it. "_Better_?" She took a step toward Leszi. "I last a full round with our good Knight Dryad and all you say is '_better?'_"

Peter struggled up from his stool. "Lucy, I'm going into the barrack to speak to Roblang. When you are done arguing with Leszi on a point he will never concede, please join me."

Fooh immediately rose, waiting instruction from his High King. This more attentive, mature Guard had become a pleasure. Beehn stretched, yawned, and scratched.

There was a Crow, of course, on the barrack roof, watching everything. "You there!" Peter said. "Kangee is it?"

"Yes, High King!" The Crow flapped down to Peter's upraised arm.

"Please see if you might locate Chief Sallowpad and Lady Willa and ask them to join me in Master Roblang's barrack."

Kangee was probably hoping for a Shiny but Peter wasn't going to play that game. "I will, High King!" He flew off.

By the time Peter limped into Roblang's barrack office, the Dwarf had already pulled out a chair. Roblang held it steady and Peter sank into it, grateful for the solicitude and irritated that he still required it.

"Fooh! Beehn!"

The Cheetahs stuck their heads in the barrack doorway. Fooh looked attentive, Beehn looked sleepy.

"Privacy please, on _My_ order. Beehn you have my permission to chase away anyone who comes too close."

Beehn pricked his ears forward and mewled. "If I catch them, can I bite them?"

If Fooh had been imitating Lambert's poise and authority, perhaps Beehn had been mimicking Jalur's less appealing traits. "Warning snaps only. Fooh, I assume you know from my previous instructions who I am expecting?"

"Yes, High King."

"Who?" Beehn asked looking around. As Lucy tried to enter the barrack, Beehn laid back his ears. "You can't come in! The High King says he wants _pervcy_."

"Do you have straw in your head and rags in your ears?" Fooh growled. "Not Queen Lucy, you idiot!" Fooh bowed his head. "Please, enter, Queen Lucy and pay my oaf of a brother no mind."

"Thank you," Lucy said with a smile that made Fooh's whiskers swivel forward. Through the door, Peter saw Fooh sit, very pointedly and determinedly, closest to the entrance, the privileged spot that he would have ceded to Briony two months ago.

The she-Wolf pulled her lip over a fang at the young Cheetah and Fooh stared back, the fur on his neck rising. Roblang wisely shut the door on the growling Guards.

"It's good to see young Fooh coming into his own," Roblang said. "I'll just stay here at the door for when Willa and Sallowpad come, your Majesties?"

"Thank you, Roblang. I won't keep you long. I know you are organising King Edmund's Glasswater troop. Has there been any other news on that business?"

Peter directed the question to both Roblang and Lucy.

"I bespoke the Naiads here and they said the same thing Edmund heard from the Chipping Naiads," Lucy said. "There's something wrong at the Glasswater. The birds are gone."

"And nothing from the overflights we sent as of today," Roblang said. "We still intend to leave tomorrow, regardless."

"Thank you." And impending departures led Peter to the next, _very_ frustrating matter. It was only with effort that he avoided the oaths that Roblang and Leszi had taught him. "Now that we are alone, will one of you please explain to your High King _what_ _is happening_?"

Roblang and Lucy looked at each other and then back at him with nearly identical expressions of bemusement and as if they truly had no idea what had become so very and inexplicably irksome.

"My King?" and "My brother?" were spoken at the same time in precisely the same intonation.

Peter gritted his teeth. They were going to make him spell it all out. "Last year, I returned from Calormen after four months away fully expecting a betrothal, which I was then informed, in no uncertain terms, was not happening. They are together all winter. Edmund returns and they are not together. Barely a month ago, our brother makes himself an utter nuisance, denies there is any relationship, but goes courting. He hares off to Anvard, returns with Morgan and they see Aslan. They travel from one end of Narnia to the other and now our subjects are making songs and stories to Morgan the Baker." Peter paused and tried to collect himself. He knew his voice had been rising. "Yet, now, with no warning at all, she returns to the Lone Islands! With no explanation other than '_Code revisions, Telmar and a silver mine_?' And even though our subjects and, dare I say, even Aslan, seem to have a far different expectation that has nothing to do with all this _business _that most Narnians have no use for at all? _What_ is going on?"

"Peter! Really!" Lucy said with a huff. "Should you not be speaking to Edmund?"

"I did! He told me that they were working through a very complex legal and contractual matter and he would inform me when he had something to say that required my attention."

"So you are pestering me and Master Roblang instead?"

"I do not want confidences! Simply some information!" Peter knew that was a very slim distinction.

"If Edmund is not forthcoming, perhaps you might query Morgan," Lucy replied.

"I think not, as she left my office three days ago with a list of marital prospects she intended to recommend to Edmund!"

Peter's frustration was not helped when Lucy burst into laughter and Roblang looked fit to choke.

With a wave from Lucy, who was still laughing too hard, Roblang spoke. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, I believe you misapprehend Banker Morgan in that regard. Based upon my observations in Anvard and the Guards' reports, she would _actively_ discourage any rival and only a great fool would cross her to attempt courtship of King Edmund."

Lucy snorted. "And Edmund is as jealous as Morgan is."

"But she is returning to the Lone Islands!" Peter pressed. "Tomorrow!"

Lucy titled her head at Roblang. "Master?"

"After Anvard and the travel through Narnia, Queen Lucy and I independently came to the same conclusion and sought each other out. I recommended and she suggested that I begin gathering information about the public bonding ceremonies Narnians would expect of a Monarch taking a mate. I have done this very discreetly, of course."

Peter was dumbstruck by the rational, calm, and most of all, _sensible_ words. He stared at both of them.

"Truly?" he finally managed. "So you both _do_ think her leaving is only temporary? That this, this _bond_, _is_…_permanent_?"

Master Roblang nodded. "We do. Seeing them together as the Queen and I both have, the bond and commitment have been present for some time."

"In their defense, Peter, I think that only very recently have they come to see in each other what has been blindingly obvious to everyone else." Lucy kicked her boots against Roblang's desk. At his glance, she stilled her swinging feet.

"Then why is she leaving? Why do they say nothing?"

"Surely keeping it quiet until she can tell her family and Alan Meryl is prudent, don't you think?" Lucy replied. "Morgan is reneging on her commitments in the Lone Islands to be with Edmund, it's not as if the Bankers would make any of this simple, and…"

"And?"

Lucy raised her eyebrows in mock exasperation. "They are both very smart about numbers and politics and such, and very stupid about feelings. That they have managed to grow so close and express any commitment at all is magical!"

He did not say how Susan and Morgan's father were close as well and in fact Susan had already written to Rafe Linch about meeting to discuss the Telmar agreements and Prince Rabadash.

Peter thought a skin of lightning was in his near future.

"It's all so lovely, Peter. You and Susan did the bonding with Narnia and Morgan and Edmund shall bond with each other!"

Lucy was gushing and her enthusiasm was infectious. This _was_ a joyous event. Peter was looking forward to dusting off those heartfelt congratulations he had rehearsed last year.

"And when the announcement does come, we are now prepared for Narnian expectations and customs," Roblang said.

Roblang's sentence tempered Peter's elation. He liked being _prepared_; it was _what_ they had to be _prepared for_ that was concerning him.

Confirming his concern, Lucy frowned. "Narnian bonding _is_ complicated…"

"Complicated?" Peter echoed.

"What the Queen means is that Narnians are as fractious about bonding ceremonies as about everything else," Roblang said.

"I see," Peter said faintly. _And_ _he did._ "Just how many different bonding ceremonies are there?"

"A dozen," Lucy said.

Roblang cleared his throat.

"_Two_ dozen?" Lucy said. "Maybe?"

_Oh Aslan._ The whole of the ordeal was beginning to unfold.

"Nearly every Beast, Bird and Being has a different way of commemorating a pair bond," Roblang said. "Fortunately, many don't have pair bonds at all…"

"But then the solitary Beasts feel slighted so we have to devise something for them so they can be part of it, too," Lucy added.

"And given that some of the rituals are season-specific, it could take a year to complete them all," Roblang said.

Yes, it was all becoming very clear. The ceremonies and traditions of Narnians were as varied as the Narnians themselves. Peter knew one question he'd want the answer to before ever embarking on something so mad. "And for how many of these bonding ceremonies are the Monarch and mate expected to be naked?"

"For most of them." Lucy sounded utterly unconcerned but then his youngest sister was perhaps the most naturally Narnian of them. She had gotten better about wearing shoes.

"The Dwarfs wear clothing," Roblang injected hurriedly. "And the Giants."

They all discreetly shuddered at the prospect of naked Giant ceremonies.

"Otherwise the pair is often as naked as when we come out of the egg," Lucy said airly.

"Let us keep this amongst ourselves for now," Peter said. If Morgan knew what was ahead, she would sail away and never come back.

Roblang cleared his throat. "And speaking of coming out of the egg…"

"Yes?" Peter prompted.

"It occurs to me that we could be expecting Human pregnancy and children at any time. If Humans are anything like Talking Beasts, these are chancy things, at first, but I think we should augment the Cair Paravel healing capability."

Previously, Peter had been but surprised and ecstatic. Now, the full import Edmund and Morgan's life-bond hit him like a storm over rocks. There would be _children_. _I will be_ _an uncle_. _Heirs._ _Little princesses and princes who would grow up under my protection._ _Praise to the Lion! There will be finally be a succession,_ _a legacy_…

Lucy's gasp slowed Peter's sudden, thrilling expectation of training up a new generation with toy swords, bows, and quarterstaffs that could be grasped in little hands…

"Oh that is well thought, Master!" Lucy exclaimed.

"What is?" Peter asked.

"Our Palace Physician _is_ a Porcupine," Roblang said. "Perhaps Banker Morgan and King Edmund would not object to a Porcupine in their birthing room, but I would wish them to have less prickly alternatives."

"Oh yes, quite," Peter agreed emphatically. No niece or nephew of the High King of Narnia would be getting stuck by a quill barely out of the womb….

_I wonder at what age they can get their first pony? I'll let them ride on my back first… When can we take them to other courts, the way Lune shows of Corin… Ours… Our family… My family… I shall officiate at one of the ceremonies! We are going to have children!_

A loud _tat tat tat_ pecking on the roof interrupted his burgeoning sentimentality.

"But the High King wanted _pervcy_," Beehn said loudly from behind the door.

"Oh do shut it," he heard Lady Willa say. "Your Majesties?"

Roblang opened the door and Willa came into the barrack; Sallowpad winged in after her. The Rat used Lucy's raised leg as a boost and scrambled up the desk; the Raven landed on a perch set in the corner. Roblang always made accommodation for everyone in his office.

"You summoned us, High King?" Sallowpad asked, settling his feathers against his back.

"Crown to a Crow, it's about Telmar," Willa said.

Sallowpad snapped his beak – he didn't like the expression.

"I am sure it is and so I shall leave you to it." Lucy jumped off the desk and hefted her quarterstaff, making for the door. "I think I shall go beat up Leszi or practice my archery."

What Lucy wished to know, she would learn from Susan. Rat and Crow was not Lucy's province and while she would use its fruits, she avoided its labour when she could.

"Lucy?"

She turned. Her smile was so wide, it lit the barrack.

"Thank you, my sister. Once Edmund returns from the Glasswater, I think the Four of us should enjoy a day together?"

"Just a day?" She threw her arms around him and nearly coshed him with her quarterstaff. "Don't be too hard on him for not saying anything," Lucy whispered.

"I am not." Peter whispered back. "If he could not say how he felt to her, how could he say it us?"

Lucy sniffed against his shoulder but these were tears for joy. Peter kissed her cheek and gave her a gentle push to the door. His sister bounded out.

Roblang was still tarrying, awaiting his order. "High King?"

_Two dozen bonding ceremonies lasting a year. Most to be performed naked. I want everyone clothed for the one__** I**__ conduct! Except the Beasts – they don't have to wear anything. And the Birds. And the Dryads and…_

Best not tell Morgan _or_ Edmund yet.

Peter waved the Dwarf away. "We are concluded, Master. My thanks for your foresight and discretion."

Roblang nodded and closed the door behind him. They all waited a few quiet moments. Willa ran back down the table, up the wall, and climbed to the window sill. She only pulled herself up the ledge with effort.

Willa was going gray around the nose – he had never noticed before – and Peter felt a qualm of guilt for making her come all the way to the barrack for the convenience of his aching knee.

She taped on the thick windowpane. "I don't think there's anyone else about, High King."

"Thank you, Friends, and yes, I did wish to speak to you briefly about Queen Susan's visit to Telmar with the Calormene delegation."

"Went well," Sallowpad. "Very successful. Excellent terms and the Calormenes were helpful."

"Prince Rabadash, especially," Willa said. "Though, you probably heard, High King, that Lambert doesn't like Rabadash. The Prince can make your fur stand up for no obvious reason."

"He's clever!" Sallowpad said.

Peter absorbed these disclosures. He knew Susan had been very discreet in her admiration for Rabadash's acumen. Still, it was a credit to his sister that she had hidden her regard even from the other Narnians in the delegation, save Lambert. He weighed his next words and then spoke. "What do you think of an alliance between Calormen and Narnia?"

"What sort of alliance?" Willa asked, sounding very suspicious.

Sallowpad cocked his head to the side. "One through Queen Susan?"

The Raven was a Bird and so did not understand emotions as the Mammals did, but he was a canny observer of political situations.

"Perhaps," Peter said. "We are considering opening channels to the Tisroc and inviting Rabadash to come to Cair Paravel next year. I emphasize it is _very_ preliminary. Your thoughts?"

"Well, _why_, is my first question," Will said, scratching herself behind the ear.

"Yes!" Sallowpad said with another quick bob of his head. "What advantage is there?"

In other company, Peter would not have let his irritated scowl show. Willa and Sallowpad, however, were among their most trusted advisors. "Why must there be an advantage?" he demanded. "Susan appreciated the respect the Prince afforded her. She wishes to know him better."

"Well I can see the advantage for Narnia, especially if she likes him," Willa said. "But the Calormenes we worked with in Telmar were very sharp and I can't see _them_ allowing their Prince to ally with little Narnia unless they get something out of it."

"Rabadash is the Tisroc's heir," Sallowpad said. "He could never stay in Narnia."

Peter knew they were getting far ahead of themselves, though why begin something if the end was not tenable? Would Susan remove to Tashbaan? He couldn't imagine it, but it would be Susan's decision. And if Edmund and Morgan began a family soon, Susan might feel she had more freedom to pursue her heart, even if it led to Calormen.

"Hmmmm…" Willa absently rubbed her chin with her paw, an imitation of a Human mannerism. "Chief, what about what happened at Conclave? Banker Morgan and King Edmund destroyed the Building and Works Society that was funding Namavar and the weapons that were going to be aimed at the North. Could that explain the Rabadash faction's interest in Narnia?"

Namavar was one of Rabadash's younger brothers and a jealous contender for the throne of the Tisroc – who would not live forever.

"Possible," Sallowpad said after a long silence. "Yes, very possible."

This was all suddenly sounding very consistent with what Peter had learned in Calormen last year. "So, Narnia and the House of Linch might be in the middle of a Calormene power struggle and Rabadash and his faction seek a stronger tie with us to tip a balance?"

Sallowpad bobbed his head. "Enemy of my enemy is my friend."

Peter smiled at the very perspicacious comment. "Perhaps it is so."

He thought that Susan would approve of Rabadash's subtle game, if that was what this was. Apart from the illegal funding scheme Morgan had exposed, Namavar and his aggressive supporters were also probably responsible for the wreck in Archenland – Lord Bar's embezzlement and the kidnapping and disappearance of Crown Prince Cor. Allying with Rabadash to defang Namavar diplomatically might appeal to Susan. And if she actually liked Rabadash, well, that was even better.

"Thank you, both for your wise counsel," he told them.

Peter managed to rise from his chair without too much flailing and felt easier than he had in weeks. He opened the door so Willa and Sallowpad could precede him out. He was going to go to the privacy of his study, pour himself a glass of Lightning and have a drink to wash away his envy of his brother's happiness and his sister's hope. Then he would pour a second drink and toast to love.

_What sort of Guards would infants need? Hands would be useful… We should add a nursery and a playroom to the Monarchs' wing… _

ooOOoo

"You intend to take my shirt to the Lone Islands?"

"Everything else is packed," Morgan said, though her words were muffled as she was pulling said shirt over her head. "And I like your clothes. And you like me in your clothes."

In fact, he really preferred her most when she was out of them. Edmund propped himself up on his elbows to enjoy the view, so to speak. He never tired of seeing Morgan, naked, in his rooms. Though if she was to wear anything, she was correct that his preference was for her to wear his shirt, alone.

"This means you'll take my trousers as well?"

In answer, Morgan rooted in the bureau and withdrew a pair. She held them up to her mostly bare lower half and with a dismissive shake of her head, tossed them in his direction, where they landed on the bed.

She found another pair more to her liking and carefully slipped them on, only wobbling slightly in the effort. "Mrs. Furner will be cross that I wear your untidy clothes but the clothes she made for me are all packed."

"So you shall preserve your clothes and ruin mine at sea?"

"Yes!" She fumbled with the drawstring before pulling the trousers tight.

"Well, let us see what we can do to assure that Mrs. Furner is cross with neither of us on the day of so many departures."

Morgan made her way to the bed, pushed the rumpled and crushed capitalization agreement to the side, and sat. It was remarkable how much more interesting complex financial documents were when he reviewed them with Morgan. He resisted the not very strong impulse to explore the many gaps of his, now her, loose clothing, and began tying the fasteners of his shirt for her.

Morgan turned her back, making another silent request. He quickly plaited her hair and tied it down with a thong from the bedside table.

"Thank you, Harold."

He moved the braid to the side and kissed her neck. From outside came the sounds of the troop he was leading to Glasswater – Roblang was calling commands and there was a clop of Centaur and horse hooves and the bay of a Hound, Rufus, he thought.

Responding to the rising din, Morgan squeezed his arms. "Best get dressed so I can see you off."

"I thought I would go Narnian since you are wearing all my clothes."

Morgan turned around in his arms, and Edmund got a delightfully lascivious smirk. "It is a possibility. The Narnians wouldn't care."

"Susan and Peter would roll their eyes."

"Lucy would laugh."

"The potential saddle sores would be prohibitive." Edmund leaned back in the bed and pulled his arms over his head. "Your views, however, are the only ones that matter."

For that, Morgan viewed him in a very thorough and most un-lady-like manner. "Using your wiles so you can blame me when the troop leaves without you?"

"I am leading it. They cannot leave without me." He gestured to the parchment in the bed. "So, I thought to propose a reading of the capitalization agreement to you. Again."

"Don't tease. Or tempt." Morgan clambered into the bed and, with an awkwardly placed knee and elbow, stretched out over him for a lazy kiss. "I'll send messages with the Gulls. I'm not sure how long it will take to settle everything with my House."

She frowned a little and Edmund stroked her cheek. "Do not worry. This is complex and affects not just you and Linch but the other Houses as well. Take the time to do it right."

She nodded. "I _will_ try to complete it all before shut-in."

"I know. But we must take the long view. You also have to wind down or transfer accounts and determine if there any that you can retain and bring with you."

"The Guilds would follow me. They would be thrilled if I did their work."

He tried to caress away the scowl on her face and the bitterness in her voice. He remembered well from his time in the Lone Islands how the senior Bankers looked down on the lowly Guild work. She was abandoning the certainty of a Directorship, wealth and prestige, in her own right, for uncertain status as consort to a King and financial advisor to a small kingdom that truly did not need a fraction of what she could provide. She gained, but there were losses, too.

"Narnia will waive any conflicts, Morgan. It might not happen right away, but once you settle into your new role here, I think the work you enjoy will come."

Edmund cleared his throat in a very pompous manner – he thought he sounded like Peter when he did so. "Our charge to you in these negotiations is clear, Banker Morgan."

She giggled. "And what is that charge, King Edmund the Just, Count of the Western March, Duke of the Lantern Waste, Knight of the Order of the Table, and not Father, Brother, or Peter?"

"Give no quarter. You negotiate for your own happiness and mine. Ours."

That earned him a kiss. His imagination stirred, hoping to demand more. _Not now, you lout!_

"I do want to winter here. Jina will have had her Puppies and I want to spend Yule with them. And you, and everyone. She's very upset I'm missing her whelping."

"If you whisper in her ear that you are leaving only so that you may return for good, she will understand."

Morgan nodded. "Before I sail, we are going to see the Physician for her maternity examination. I was going to tell her then."

"I told Peter, Lucy and Susan. They are very happy for us." It was only a few private, emotional words, for Edmund had been stricken as mute as Morgan often was. He had been so grateful that they had understood without him trying to explain what was so wondrously inexplicable.

"I hope my family will be as happy," Morgan said.

"They love you, too. It will be well. King you know. I _do_ rank Banker."

She laughed, a quiet huff in his ear, and curled closer to him.

Edmund ran his hands down her back, enjoying the feel and knowing he would miss it before she returned. Morgan had become hollow-cheeked and wan during Conclave last year and her travel overland in Calormen had taken its toll.

"Speaking of Jina's whelping…" She squirmed against him. "You seem to prefer when there's more of me, don't you?"

"Hmmmm. I most prefer you here, rather than elsewhere, and I very much look forward to you being here next to me through the cold of every winter to come. But yes, indeed, now that you are here, and I have my hands upon you, I observe that Narnia has been very good to you and I am very appreciative of the change."

"How much more of me could you tolerate?"

"Well, I…" Edmund paused. _No. So soon?_ He slid his hand under the gaping shirt of his that Morgan was wearing. Her waist didn't feel that much different – thicker? Jina was… But… _Morgan_?

"Morgan, are you…?"

"Pregnant? No, I don't think so. Not yet." Morgan turned her head to the side, trying to see him and gauge his reaction. "Is that… I mean, I thought…"

"You thought quite rightly," he said hurriedly, sorting through the disappointment that she wasn't, the elation that she could be, and the abject terror of the mere prospect of it.

Edmund let out a deep breath.

"I shock you that much?" Morgan sounded very dry but surely she was worried, too.

"No," Edmund said firmly and pulled her closer. "We've been far less cautious and we both know what the likely result would be. But you carry enough responsibility already, Morgan. You need no distractions for what is to come."

"Though perhaps I and our child would be ransomed and held hostage in the Governor's House at Narrowhaven? You could sail in with the Narnia fleet and do single combat with Alan?"

"I should have never mentioned offing his head. You look far too pleased at the prospect."

She laughed.

The panic had subsided, to replaced, he was surprised to feel, by a certain smug achievement. He pulled her closer. "Selfishly, I would want to be with you and for our children to be born here. I think everyone who loves you here would wish to be part of that, as well."

There was more noise of the assembling company. Rafiqa's bay joined Rufus' call.

"Well, I won't delay any longer than I must. Negotiate my severance, sail back, and let my father and Pierce deal with everything else."

There was a great deal of _everything else_.

"I do not understand Susan's possible interest in Rabadash at all. I do not like the fact that she and Lambert disagree nor that Rabadash can, by some accounts, be goaded into rash acts."

"It's premature and might all be nothing," Morgan said, scattering light kisses over his chest. "But if you … if _we,_ are serious about improved relations with Calormen, her preference is a good one; Rabadash _is_ better than so many of the others."

His intellect and imagination were beginning a tussle over what to do about Morgan lying on top of him in so provocative, even though clothed, a position. Realistically, it would require more time than they had. His intellect knew he was late already and delaying their departure. His imagination whinged that by the time he returned, Morgan would have sailed.

"You just like him better because he prefers Sterns Bankers to Stanleh for his business."

"Sterns isn't as smart," she admitted**.** "And I am trying to be nicer about Stanleh now that Maeve is almost family."

Morgan's expression turned uncomfortable. Edmund pulled her down closer again to kiss her cheek, knowing the source. "If you do not wish to…"

"I do!" she said firmly. "I promised Seth I'd deliver his letter to Maeve. I can do it!"

"It is very good of you to give something important from someone who tried to hurt you to someone whom you dislike."

"It's what you would do." She shrugged under his hands. "Please don't congratulate me for doing the right thing."

Her eyes wandered away. Morgan was needlessly embarrassed by her own generosity of spirit, but he let the matter go with a simple, "Thank you." Edmund offered a diversion instead.

"If you worry the other Houses will believe you have become unprofitably altruistic, you could order Maeve and Pierce to review all those Telmar agreements and the mine. That would perpetuate your hard-working, give-no-ground, Banker reputation."

She grinned. "If I did that, they would be negotiating until shut-in!"

"Perhaps I should reconsider. We shall not pay by the day for those negotiations, Banker Morgan!" Really, so motivated, it could take Pierce and Maeve _weeks_ otherwise.

Morgan laughed and kissed him again. "We're not that much better, you and I."

"But at least the Narnia treasury is not being billed for the expense!"

The kiss and all else that accompanied it confirmed that sometimes, it really was better to just let his imagination do the thinking for all of him.

ooOOoo

_From five Humans down to three. Had there been enough foodstuffs packed in the bags for a ten-day to the Glasswater? For one Human male, yes, unless the High King. For the High King or a Centaur, no. Were there any Centaurs on the roster going to Glasswater?_

Hoberry consulted his internal checklist and then cross-checked it with the actual list written on the whitewashed wall of the staff storeroom.

Eirene, the Centauress, was accompanying the King Edmund.

_Well, that was alright then. She was a finicky eater and insisted upon packing her own meals. _

Was one packhorse enough for the rest of the Company traveling with King Edmund? Well, it depends on the size of the horse, doesn't it?

_Meat flavoured biscuits, dried meat, and root vegetables for Rufus and Rafiqa. Hounds were simple – they ate anything. No fresh meat, but they could share in any kill the Cats made. _

His mind continued down the mental and written checklists, methodically, one item after the other. Though, he did so only to a point. Get too bogged down in the list and you lose the Forest for the Dryads. With anything, every meal, every tea, every event, task, undertaking, excursion, and mission, Hoberry had a precise idea of what it looked like when complete and perfect. And then he worked backwards.

He also read the last page of any story first.

With both Banker Morgan and King Edmund leaving, now would be the time to thoroughly clean the King's rooms and the Tower Library. There would be no need to do more than tidy Banker Morgan's assigned room, for she had not used it much at all. Not that Hoberry ever commented on such things. He saw everything and said nothing except to those who needed to know and, in most instances, the only individual who needed to know was himself alone.

As for Banker Morgan's new office, she had used it for less than a month and was now leaving. He was very sorry about that. He and Mrs. Furner had endeavored to make a special place for Banker Morgan in the hope of luring her to remain in Narnia. He supposed now one of the Monarchs would claim the office. He might take the chair for himself. Still, he would far rather have Banker Morgan in it.

With a deep sigh, Hoberry reached up to erase the picture of the Dog that had decorated Banker Morgan's column on the Cair Paravel organization chart. Really, it should have been a black Bird, but the black Bird was the symbol of King Edmund and they could not have two black Birds on the Cair Paravel organization chart. _Oh no. That would not do at all._ He might as well try serving tea to the High King in the morning, or not secretly check Queen Lucy's borrowed clothing every day for tears before Mrs. Furner found out, or only have charcoal stubs and scraps instead of fresh parchment and sharpened quills for Queen Susan's desk.

Yes, King Edmund was the Just King who saw to the rewriting of those Lone Islands laws, and had every rule, code, and decision of Narnia organized in the Tower Library. As far as Hoberry was concerned, the Cair Paravel organization chart was the Supreme Law Of The Land.

The Queen Susan had returned just in time for King Edmund and Banker Morgan to leave and … Hoberry made a note to speak to the Physician about what further duties were to be allotted to the High King now that he was nearly healed.

There were voices in the hall and the sound of the Physician's door opening.

He went down the list quickly. The Queen Susan was seeing to the provisioning of the _Trade Winds_ that would sail soon with Banker Morgan aboard. Queen Lucy was getting trounced in the Training Yard by Sir Leszi. The High King was reviewing the provisioning of the Glasswater mission with Roblang. King Edmund would be at his security briefing with Lady Willa before his departure. There was only one being in Cair Paravel who actively sought out the Physician.

He pushed the door open with a hoof. "Good morning Banker Morgan, Jina."

"Good morning, Mr. Hoberry," Banker Morgan said with a wave that brought her hand very close to the prickly Physician.

The Porcupine was gnawing on a leafy branch and Jina was well clear of him. "It has been a pleasure as always, Lady Gorgon."

The Physician was terrible about names.

"Thank you so much for the wonderful reading material," Banker Morgan said. As she reached out to gingerly shake the Porcupine's paw, Hoberry saw Jina sigh heavily and despite the danger of the Physician's prickly side, sidled closer to Banker Morgan, head down, tail between her legs. Her belly was just starting to swell with her pregnancy and Hoberry was very concerned for her. With this sort of stress and unhappiness, it would not be unusual for a Talking Beast to abort.

The Physician turned to go into his office and swung his bristling tail so close to Jina, the Hound jumped backwards.

Hoberry pushed the storage room door open further and woman and Hound retreated to the room's safety.

"I needed to return his books," Banker Morgan blurted out, without greeting or introduction. "And to say good-bye."

With Queen Lucy, this would be a hug. With Queen Susan, it would be a kiss on the cheek. Banker Morgan thrust out her hand and so Hoberry shook it. Mr. Tumnus had told him of the odd custom.

"It is always a pleasure to have you here, Banker Morgan," he told her. "Truly." Like the Talking Beasts, he really wished she would stay. The effect upon King Edmund when Banker Morgan was about was profound and very pleasing. He, and everyone else, had thought she was staying. This departure was abrupt, unexpected, and unpleasant.

She leaned in, looking a little crafty. "I wanted to tell you both something important, but it must be kept secret."

With a glance, Jina quickly shoved the door closed with her nose and they all moved further into the room.

"It's about…"

He held up a hand and looked to Jina, who was carefully sensing the area. Many Talking Beasts would have no difficulty at all listening through a door.

"No one is near," the Hound said. "All is well."

Jina sounded so bereft, Morgan dropped to the floor and wrapped her arms around the grieving Hound. "I _will_ be back, Jina! I promise!"

The Hound sighed again and rested her jowls on Morgan's shoulder. "You are missed, Morgan. We all miss you. I miss you. I thought you were going to be here when I whelped."

"I know, Jina! That's why I wanted to talk to you and Mr. Hoberry."

"We, of course, stand ready, Banker Morgan."

Banker Morgan lowered her voice and he had to lean forward to hear her. "You two are the only ones I am telling," she whispered. "I am going back now to Narrowhaven to wind up my affairs and inform my family and the Houses." She paused dramatically. "When I come back it will be permanent. I will be staying in Narnia!"

Jina's tail thumped so wildly she nearly upended the bookcase, which would have buried them all under the battered editions of _The Essential Cookbook of_ _Better Homes and Dens, Hunters and Gatherers—Balanced Diets For Omnivores, The Picky Herbivore_ and _Bark Stews And Other Recipes Of The 100-Year Winter_ (which was more history than culinary).

"Truly Morgan!? You are?!" As Hoberry steadied the tottering case, Jina threw herself onto Morgan and began licking her face.

Hoberry, of course, maintained an appearance of complete shock and delight. "That is wonderful news, Banker Morgan." It was wonderful news – he had just won a very large wager in the Murder's betting pool and Leszi owed him a case of wine.

"Yes! It is! It's all very complicated, but yes! Please do not say anything – I'm sure my family has already heard garbled accounts and they need to hear the news from me, first."

Morgan gave Jina another hug and he took her hand to help her rise. "Harold will be speaking to you, Mr. Hoberry, as matters become more settled. I will be bringing things with me, for my office and for Harold's rooms – _our_ rooms." She smiled so widely at this, Hoberry felt his breath catch. He remembered so well what it felt like, looked like, to be so transformed by love. In that moment, Banker Morgan was as beautiful as any he had ever seen. It was so fleeting.

"Of course, Banker Morgan. It would be my pleasure."

Jina was so pleased, she reared on her hind legs to place her paws on Banker Morgan's front. The woman put her arms around Jina's shoulders and Hoberry quickly put a supporting hand on Banker Morgan to keep them both from falling over.

"You have made me so happy, Morgan."

"I am sorry I won't be here for the whelping. But I want to get to Narrowhaven so I can leave and return here before the winter storms close down the harbor."

"You will even miss shut-in?" Jina said. The Hound sounded shocked. "Conclave? _For us_?"

"Yes! I am Narnian now! I would rather me here, with you, Harold, your Puppies, and everyone else. We will all be together at Yule!"

Jina nuzzled Banker Morgan's face. Hounds were affectionate with each other. "You're the best friend I've ever had, Jina. _Of course_ I'll be here for you."

"And you are as dear to me as any Hound of the Pack.' Another hug and the Hound dropped again to the floor and everything about her was happier. "I think I shall join King Edmund's troop to the Glasswater, after all. Your news has cheered me greatly and it shall be our secret!"

Hoberry always regretted that as he made his farewells to Jina and Banker Morgan, he was fretting about whether there were sufficient foodstuffs for the now three Hounds traveling with King Edmund to the Glasswater.

* * *

Next, Chapter 19 and I won't put the title out there.

And there we are. My apologies for the long delay. In the meantime, I wrote _Narnians Assemble_ (a Narnia/Avengers cross) and _Thimbles and Thunderstorms!_ for the Narnia Fic Exchange. _Narnians Assemble_ actually gives a view of what might have happened after _Rat and Sword Go To War_ with added Peggy Carter and Captain America as well as Edmund and Lucy in a TSG alternative universe, no train crash.

As always, the Narnia Fic Exchange produces wonderful stories so do go check them out on the Live Journal site or as they are being posted here. A huge thanks to snacky for running it.

The first part of this chapter was originally written from Peter's point of view in Chapter 15, _Folly_, of _The Queen Susan In Tashbaan_. It was very interesting to compare that scene from January 2010 with Morgan presenting the silver mine analysis to Peter, to this one. Here, we get the same presentation but from Morgan's point of view and the gulf of understanding between them is really enormous.

This has obviously been a very difficult update. I've had (lots and lots) of real life writing and and close readers know where we're going next. I suppose I'm looking forward to it no more than you are. My sentiment also ran away with me.

Last, my work and I are real outliers nowadays on this site in the Narnia fandom and there is a lot of hostility to any works outside a particular brand of story. If you are still reading, I would very much like to hear from you. If you like it and other works like it, even a follow, a fav, or a single guest review of "Thanks for updating! I liked it a lot!" really, really means something. Those counts, favs and follows make a statement. Thank you so very much for your support.


	19. Death of a Hound

**Chapter 19, Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance**  
**Death of a Hound**

In which there is tragedy and more than a beloved Hound is lost.

ooOOoo

I'm sorry. This event has been referred to as least four times across three or four stories. It was first warned of in Chapter 10 of Part 1, in 2009. An _original_ (not canon) character death follows, which may be triggering.

ooOOoo

Their late departure from Cair Paravel meant, by common agreement, an early halt rather than an attempt of the Glasswater at night. Jalur approved of the precaution. He wasn't letting his King hare off into anything ever again.

Today, they'd made an efficient early morning start and would have plenty of daylight to investigate the strange reports coming from the area around the Glasswater. The Hounds were ahead, scouting the path south. It was a fair day, no rain, and few distractions in the form of Narnians wanting their King's attention. Jalur hadn't growled at anyone all morning. He had, so far, sensed nothing that should not be there.

"Hold!" King Edmund called. He pulled up his horse and was looking up. "It's Trice."

Jalur couldn't see distance as well as his King did, at least in daylight.

Eirene moved alongside King Edmund's horse. The Hounds came back to hear Eagle's report. Trice flew in and landed heavily on an overhead branch of a tree.

"What news, Trice? Anything abroad?"

"No, your Majesty. It is as the Birds reported yesterday. It's quiet at the Glasswater."

"Could something be waiting for us under cover of the trees?" Eirene asked.

"No Dryad would knowingly shelter an enemy," King Edmund said. "Unfortunately, most of the Groves moved closer to the Dancing Lawn for the summer. But there should be Birds there."

"And that's what's so strange, King Edmund," Trice said. "The water fowl and Talking Birds that should be there, aren't."

"Were you able to find any to speak to?" Rufus asked.

"Briefly," Trice said. "But most sensible Birds hide from me. One Loon Hen did try to attack me as I got close because she thought I was dumb. She was very anxious because her mate had disappeared and she'd lost one of her Chicks to a snake last night. She wouldn't leave the one left alone."

Eirene stomped a hoof. "A snake ate a Chick?"

"That's what she said, but the Hen was very upset and wouldn't talk long," Trice replied. "I told her we were coming and she was very relieved."

"Eirene, our water snakes don't eat birds, do they?" King Edmund asked.

"They can, I suppose, but usually they only hunt worms and minnows. I've never heard of any Narnian snake attacking a Talking Bird."

"I am glad we have come if our Birds are so unsettled," King Edmund said. "Do we all agree that a Human threat appears unlikely?"

"We are still too far away to be sure, but we don't smell Humans," Jina said.

"The overflights haven't reporting seeing camps or fires," Eirene added.

King Edmund nodded. "I also believe that if any Humans had come into Narnia, the Crows at our borders and shores would raise alarm."

"I did fly as low as I could," Trice said. "There's nothing."

"Nothing Human," King Edmund corrected. "Eirene, do you suppose there might be magic involved?"

"Possibly," she replied. "Trice, might I have a feather?"

The Eagle combed through her wing and a downy feather floated down from her perch. Eirene caught it in her hands and blew upon it. Jalur didn't see anything but he felt his fur crackle. There was an odor of herbs, like from the Palace garden, and then the scent and feather disappeared.

"Trice has not flown through any magic that I know of, King Edmund," Eirene said.

"So that is good news," King Edmund said. "We move on then, cautiously enough to satisfy even Jalur."

Jalur growled at the teasing.

"Trice, please continue your surveillance. Rufus, Jina, please take point and find our trail. Jalur, ahead, Eirene at my flank, Rafiqa, please take rear guard."

They set off again. There was no singing – this was serious business. The morning fog was lifting and the sun was warming on his back. Jalur kept his nose and ears on the task and thinking on what was bothering him. Trice said there was "nothing." That was the problem. A Beast needed something to sense. There should be _things_ here, animals and birds, Talking and dumb. Narnia was always very alive and this quiet seemed unnatural. The closer they drew to the Glasswater, the quieter it was becoming. They had all been here before, in all seasons, and quiet was not the way it should be.

The ground was gently sloping upward. The trees were thinning. There was a rise and then, on the other side, the ground sloped down and leveled out to the wide, marshy plain of the Glasswater estuary. Trees would be replaced by the tall grasses, black mud, and tidal pools.

Jalur heard King Edmund and Eirene quietly speaking and ignored the distraction. Whatever it was, it was ahead, not behind.

The Hounds stopped. They turned and came back, stiff-legged, noses down, and hair bristling.

_The Hounds felt it, too._

"Is something wrong?" King Edmund asked. He and Eirene came forward to join them.. They were even speaking in low voices. It was _so strange. _

"I don't know," Jalur replied.

"But you feel it?" Jina asked him.

"Yes."

"It _feels _wrong," Jina said, looking up at them.

"We do not know what," Rufus added. "There are dead things here."

Rafiqa growled.

Jina lifted her nose and inhaled. "Something is wrong here, your Majesty."

"But not Human?"

"We're close enough now. If there were Humans, we would know," Jina said.

"And not magic?"

"Not that I sense," Eirene replied.

King Edmund stood up in his saddle, shaded his eyes, and looked ahead. They could hear the breeze moving in the scrubby trees and grass, the faint hum of insects, the creak of the saddle, the breathing of King Edmund's horse, and the noises in Eirene's stomachs.

"I've been here past years and the noise of the birds and Birds is usually deafening. It is much too quiet," King Edmund said.

Jalur inhaled deeply. "It doesn't smell as it did."

Trice had been circling overhead. She flapped down to perch on a stunted tree thick with bracken.

"See what I mean? I've not spotted anything larger than a rabbit," the Eagle said. "And not many of those. It's very poor eating here. There are a few dumb birds who hid from me in the grass and the snakes."

"More snakes?" Eirene asked.

Trice ruffled her feathers and a few fluffy ones drifted down onto the Hounds. "I didn't see them before but there was fog on the ground this morning and maybe they were in the deep grass. But now I've seen snakes and turtles sunning on rocks and logs close to the river."

"There is a smell of reptiles," Rufus said.

"We are near the marsh. That is to be expected," King Edmund said. "What is strange is the lack of birdlife. This has always been Narnia's most productive nesting area."

King Edmund settled back in his saddle. "Thank you, Trice. Please look for any other Talking Birds and direct them to us. Onward, Friends. There may be Narnians in need of us. We go slowly and carefully."

They crested the rise and the marsh of the Glasswater basin spread out beyond them. Jina and Rufus nosed about and found a new trail.

"Be sure to test the ground," King Edmund told the Hounds. "I do not want today to be the first time we get stuck in a seep."

"We will, King Edmund," Jina said.

The Hounds entered the marsh and they all followed. It was muddy, narrow, and they had to go carefully and single file. The grasses and cattails were very tall and sharp, over his own head and chest-high for Eirene. Jalur could not see very far ahead but the Hounds had struck a good trail that smelled faintly of deer.

Other scents were more powerful – salt and fresh water, decaying plants, mud, reptiles, a few birds and the occasional rabbit or muskrat. He didn't like marsh and this place was making him very uneasy. His paws were sinking into the muck and he could hear the squelch of horse and Centauress hooves behind him.

"Eirene, how is your footing?" King Edmund asked.

"It's muddy but not so as we would get trapped."

"Rufus? Jina?" King Edmund called.

Jalur could smell the Hounds and hear them moving ahead, but could not see them. The occasional dumb bird fluttered up, disturbed by their passage.

"We're fine, King Edmund," Rufus barked back. "We're nearly to the river."

There were lots of small swarming insects that were especially inconvenient low to the ground. Jalur shook his head and growled. The bugs flew around his nose and ears.

Behind him, Eirene spoke. "It's not just the Birds. The frogs are gone, too."

"The emptiness reminds me of the bathing pond," King Edmund said. "The Otters have eaten everything or driven them away."

"Perhaps there are predators who have moved here," Eirene said. "Jalur? Rafiqa? Do you smell anything like a fox? Or a fishing cat? Any large carnivore?"

"No," Jalur replied, shaking his head again to avoid the insects.

"I don't, either," Rafiqa said. "There are hardly any mammal smells. It's plants, snakes, and turtles."

"The Talking Beasts who eat birds and eggs usually avoid the area so they are not tempted by Talking Bird nests," King Edmund said.

Jalur heard rustling in the grass. He turned his head, inhaled, and recognized the scent. He growled. "A snake."

"Two snakes," Rafiqa said. "No, three. four. There are a lot of..."

The quiet was shattered by Rufus' sudden, ferocious barking. "Jina! Be careful!"

Jina screamed.

ooOOoo

"If I look at another, I shall go blind, Master Roblang," Queen Susan said, squinting down the shaft of an arrow. "I am glad to see this task done."

Roblang set down the last arrow on the table set up in the bright light of the Training Yard. He and Queen Susan had spent the morning sorting through the Armory's arrows and identifying those needing repair.

"And my thanks to your Majesty," Roblang replied. "General, do your eyes see anything we missed?"

He had to speak loudly over the din of Queen Lucy's skirmish with Sir Leszi. The Satyr had the better of the Queen but she was gamely hanging on. Queen Lucy was experimenting with her new Archenland manoeuvres which were suited to the large infantry soldiers of Lune's army and not a lithe Narnian Queen.

The Gryphon looked carefully up and down the rows of arrows laid out on the table. The General's Eagle-eyes might see what Dwarf and Human could not.

"No, all seems as it should," the General said. "The repair will be good tasks for idle winter hands and we will be ready should we need them for any sudden spring campaign that might arise."

"You are a pessimist, General," Queen Susan said. "For which we are always grateful."

Lambert and Briony, sitting together while their Queens worked, both jumped to their feet and growled. Roblang felt something stir and move through the Beasts in the Yard. All heads turned south.

"Lambert, what is it?" Queen Susan asked.

"Leszi! Queen Lucy!" Roblang barked. "Hold! Something's on the wind!"

Leszi and the Queen both stopped immediately and it seemed the whole of the Training Yard collectively held a breath, straining to hear the sound rising from the south.

"Birds are flying very fast to us," Lambert said.

That was enough.

"Alert!" the General screeched. "Wings in the air! Wings in the air! Report in!"

The Training Yard erupted in a flurry of feathers as Birds followed their standing orders and flew off in all directions – to call up the Army unit on duty in the Barrack, to notify the High King in the Palace, to summon the Murder, the Mischief, the Pack and the Claw, and to fulfill the other pre-assigned tasks when the General called an Alert.

Queen Lucy, breathing hard and shining with sweat, jogged up to her sister and the Guards. "Briony? What do you…"

Surely it would be difficult to hear what was approaching above the noise in the Yard but the Wolves' heads were raised and their sensitive ears were twitching in the direction of the oncoming Birds.

"Oh no!" Briony cried. "Lucy! Your cordial! The Birds are calling for you!"

_What.. Where…_

"The Glasswater!" Lambert barked.

They all moved, each acting both independently and perfectly in concert, just as a flock of Swifts swooped into the Yard, hysterical with stress, shrieking, in chorus: "Queen Lucy to the Glasswater! Queen Lucy to the Glasswater!"

"Roblang!" the General snapped. "Get a harness! For me and Queen Lucy!"

"Susan! Get my…."

Queen Susan was running before her sister could finish her sentence. To the circling, frantic Swifts, Queen Susan shouted, "You there! Tell Peter to get Lucy's cordial! I'll meet him on the Palace steps. Lucy, I'll bring it back here. Don't waste time! Get into a harness!"

They didn't know why – they had to trust each other. No one said it, but the harrowing worst was that King Edmund had suffered some terrible calamity in the Glasswater. A Swift, who had not completely lost his sense, flapped down to say that Trice was flying to them as quickly as she could and had sent the faster fliers she had met on her flight ahead with the most urgent message – _Queen Lucy to the Glasswater._

The horrifying news arrived with Trice.

Roblang was fitting the rig over the General's chest and Queen Lucy was buckling her last strap of the flying harness – Queen Susan and the High King had already brought the precious Gift from the Palace and it hung securely at Queen Lucy's hip.

The exhausted Eagle crashed into the Training Yard at the feet of the High King and croaked out her message. "Poisonous snakes. Glasswater. Eirene bitten. Needs cordial. Jina dead."

The General galloped across the yard and launched herself into the air.

"Everyone clear!" the High King bellowed. "Give them room!" Queen Lucy stood alone, in the middle of the Yard, tears streaming down her face, and holding up her arms.

The General swooped down, Queen Lucy grabbed on to the Gryphon's rig, and was pulled off the ground. Roblang held his breath, for this was a dangerous moment. But it was a clean snatch and lift and Queen Lucy was the most adept of any Human at the manoeuvre as she swung herself up and clipped her harness to the General's rig.

"I'm in!" the Queen shouted. "Fly! Fly!" With a powerful downward stroke, the General climbed in the air and turned south; a guard of Raptors and a wing of Gryphons rose with them.

As Gryphon and Queen flew out of sight, the Canines of Cair Paravel began to softly keen for the passage of Jina Lady Hound to Aslan's Country.

For the rest of them, grief would have to wait. The High King consulted with Leszi and they dispatched a swift-moving, strong fighting unit to depart immediately to render what aid was possible to King Edmund at the Glasswater.

It took some time to sort through the messages – Trice could barely speak through her exhaustion and Swifts, though none were faster, were unreliable narrators. They pieced together a tragic account. Jina had investigated a snake nest and only after being bitten did they realize the snake was a viper. Rufus had barely managed to escape. Eirene had been bitten in their frantic efforts to recover Jina. Jina had died in King Edmund's arms.

Roblang sent an earnest prayer to Aslan that Queen Lucy and the General would arrive in time to save Eirene.

During the tortuous wait for word, Roblang consulted the _Animalia and Botanica _with Pliny, the Centaur sage, and the Physician. They had no precedent. _Venomous snakes?_ _In Narnia?_ The sea snakes were very dangerous but the Mer-people had tamed them. There were small, shy, weak-venomed adders in the mountain passes that had never been a threat except to the very smallest of dumb animals. Pliny and the Physician hoped that Eirene's much larger size would give her the time Jina had not had – Trice had said Jina had been bitten several times on the neck and face and Eirene on the leg as she had galloped into the nest to recover the dying Hound.

Eirene's fate was out of their hands, hooves, and paws and so they could only do what they could do. Needs drove out wants. The High King ordered Pliny and a company of Raptors to the Glasswater to collect samples of the snakes for study. Pliny thought Daks, a surly Badger who lived outside of Cair Paravel, should accompany the research team. The Badger used to hunt the adders in the southern mountains and had a taste for them and immunity to their bites. Daks became more cooperative when Briony and Lambert escorted him to a private audience with the Queen Susan to make known how the Badger might serve Narnia.

The High King and Queen Susan decided to join Pliny's party. They would meet their brother and sister on the road and escort the devastated company back to Cair Paravel. Pliny and his group would continue on to Glasswater. They were packing onto a donkey cart the barrels, pokers and sacks for dealing with the snakes when more Swifts arrived with news that Queen Lucy and the General had arrived in time and Eirene been saved.

With the moans of the Hounds already echoing in Cair Paravel for the loss of Jina, the celebration was very muted.

Roblang saw the High King, Queen Susan and Pliny's troop off and was trying to reorganize the duty roster to account for the lost units and grieving Canines when he heard the General screeching for him from what was surely a league away. He rushed into the Training Yard just as she and her Wing-seconds, Haizea and Liluye, landed. The three Gryphons hurried to the water trough and began to drink, dipping their beaks in, and raising their heads so the water ran down their throats.

"General! What news? I just…"

"No time, Roblang," the General snapped, water dripping from her beak. "Get Haizea and Liluye in rig and get me a good harness for a woman, the sturdiest one we have. We fly as soon as we are watered."

She dipped her head again into the trough.

"For what…"

_Oh, but of course. _He cursed himself for not having foreseen it sooner even if there was nothing that could have been done until now.

Roblang turned heel and ran into the Armory and straight into Leszi who was yelling at a pair of dawdling Cheetahs to get on duty at the Palace or he'd pull out their whiskers.

"Leszi! Hurry! The General's ordered flying rigs for Haizea and Liluye!"

And thank Aslan that, once again, they all knew when a situation required quick action and no talking back. Leszi spun about on his hooves, darted into the saddlery, and ran back out again, draped in rigging.

Roblang contemplated the different sized flying harnesses hanging on the wall pegs. The one Queen Lucy had worn would be best but it was still with the Queen. He yanked from the hook the one Queen Susan often favored and ran back out into the Yard.

"Do you need anything to eat? Should we bring you something?" Roblang asked the General as he held up the rig for Liluye to duck her head into. Leszi was already tightening the straps between Haizea's legs.

"We can eat fish during the flight."

"Banker Morgan isn't like our Kings or Queens," Roblang felt he had to say. "She's had no training, she's very awkward…"

"Rufus and Rafiqa requested her attendance on behalf of the Pack," the General said. "Queen Lucy and King Edmund said if it can be done, it must be done, and that only Banker Morgan can make that choice."

Banker Morgan could not light a flint or raise a sword over her head. How could she possibly manage the lift from ground to air and attach the carabineers from her harness to a Gryphon's rig? _From shipboard? And then fly, dangling from a Gryphon's belly, across the sea? _ Roblang could not fathom this ending well. But there was nothing for it. It had to be attempted.

"Do you know how to find her ship?" Leszi asked. "It's a big ocean,"

"I'm aware of that," the General said. "I already ordered the Gulls and Albatrosses out. Queen Susan said the _Trade Winds_ was headed to Galma first – she won't be far."

Roblang drew the fighting strap up and under Liluye's belly and buckled it.

"Tighter, please," the Gryphon said. Her fur and feathers were damp from the water hastily drunk. "It will loosen in flight."

Roblang tightened the strap one more notch on Liluye's rigging. This was madness.

"Done!" Leszi said, giving Haizea's rig a final, hard tug.

The Satyr picked up the Human harness and offered it to the General, who dipped her head and it settled down her neck. "And General, I don't care what you say, I'm going to inspect your harness before you fly."

"Fine!" she snapped, but she also did not object as Leszi ran his hands over the rig, testing the buckles, rings, and straps.

"Are you done?" Liluye demanded. For a Gryphon, she was very high-strung.

"I am," Roblang said. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, yes," Liluye grumbled. "Fine."

She was trying to imitate her mother, the General, again.

He and Leszi both stepped back.

"Fly free, fly strong," Leszi said, using their invocation from the dark of the Long Winter.

"Aslan guide you," Roblang said.

The General ran down the yard, launched herself into the air, and turned east toward the sea; Haizea and Liluye followed.

"_Aslan guide you_ my arse," Leszi muttered. "Couldn't he have just guided Jina away from that viper nest in the first place?"

There was, of course, no proper answer to that.

ooOOoo

A blowing of the horns summoned the whole of Cair Paravel to greet the solemn, sad procession's return. King Edmund was leading a pack horse with Jina's blanket-wrapped body tied to the saddle; the High King and Queens rode on either side. Heads and tails were down, paws and hooves heavy. Rufus looked broken and Rafiqa's head hung so low, her nose nearly dragged on the ground. Eirene looked wan and limped a little – if she looked that poorly now, she must have been deathly ill herself when Queen Lucy saved her.

Roblang wiped away a tear of his own as King Edmund wearily slid from his saddle and the Palace Pack broke over him, whinging and crying. The King knelt and embraced the Hounds who needed the touch, the smell, and the voice of the one who had last held Jina. It had been much the same five years ago after his Guard, Merle, had died, and the King looked now as he did then. This was a tragic event and a very personal one for King Edmund; Jina's death would likely affect Banker Morgan even more profoundly.

Queen Lucy held the horse while the High King and Queen Susan untied the bundle that was Jina's body.

"Your Majesty?" Roblang asked, as the High King took Jina into his arms.

"I'll carry her. Just show me to her pyre," the High King said. His face and voice were pinched with grief.

Queen Susan, her dirty face streaked with dried tears, reverently carried another, much smaller, carefully wrapped lump. Roblang shuddered at what that portended. _Horrible._

Dryad grooms came to take the horses. The rest, the unpacking and sorting, would be done later. What could be done had been done. Now was the time for mourning.

Roblang led them to the site at the Tilting Field he had chosen for the Hounds' pyre. The High King limped along carrying the body; Queen Susan matched his pace carrying the other, small, sad burden. The mourners all followed. The Dryads had given the dry, dead wood for Jina's pyre. The High King gently set the body on the sticks. Queen Susan set the other little bodies alongside.

"Jina, may your final journey be peaceful," the High King said.

The Queens clutched one another and sobbed.

With the lead Bitch of the Palace Pack finally home, the Canines formed a circle around her pyre. Noses upraised, they began to sing their grief. The mournful howls of the Wolves and Dogs, the yips of the Foxes, and cries of the Jackals and Coyotes would break the hardest heart. They would keen until the next dawn. Then, they would all gather together to say the words of farewell and light the fire. The smoke would rise, mingled with the music of the Canines of Cair Paravel.

ooOOoo

Shqipe flew with long, slow, steady beats – _breathe in, wings up, breathe out, wings down_ – eyes seeing the currents of air and rising and falling with them. Haizea and Liluye flew alongside her, sister and daughter of the air, and the power of the three of them together created a current they all could glide upon.

_Up. Down. Glide. Up. Down. Glide._

Beneath them, the sea rolled and pitched in shades of green and darkened to blue and black. They could see the fish and the whales, and the mer-people and their homes and herds. They could see the shimmering lines rising up from the earth and oriented themselves along them.

_Up. Down. Glide. Up. Down. Glide._

The Sun fell and the day faded. They flew on, navigating by the Moon and Stars.

_Aslan guide you my arse_, Leszi would have said. Aslan didn't guide them. Aslan expected them to solve their own problems themselves. Shqipe loved her Kings and Queens but they put too much faith in Aslan. To the Four, the dark of one hundred years of winter, the turmoil before that, and death of the line of King Frank and Queen Helen were but fireside tales. This was the real reason the General of Narnia now flew to find Banker Morgan and would consent to carry a Human across the sea – the Banker of Linch knew, as she did, that relying upon Aslan alone was foolishness.

Shqipe was grateful that Aslan had freed her from the Witch's stone. But it was Leszi and Roblang who had found her statue and hauled it, in secret, halfway across Narnia to a cave for safety. It was Leszi and Roblang who had visited her, thereafter, for over ten years, and talked to unhearing stone. It was they who saw that her little Chick did not starve, and it was they who begged Aslan, when he _finally_ did arrive, to free her.

_Fly free, fly strong._

_Be smart. Be prepared. Fight. _

_Know it is not only by the magic of a sometimes-here-sometimes-not Lion that Narnia is defended._

The Frigate Birds and Gulls had found the ship, the _Trade Winds_. They had given their General the directions. The convoy in which the ship and Banker Morgan was sailing came into view. The ships had lit lanterns in the near full dark.

Haizea broke formation to dive down and snatch a large, shining fish. She rose up again, barely missing a wingbeat and, holding the fish in her claws, bit off its head.

Scraps fell into the water to be devoured by sharks.

Silently, they angled north toward the convoy. Many ships crowded the route this time of year. They crisscrossed the Eastern Sea loaded with summer harvests and supplies before the winter blew up and locked the island kingdoms in their harbours.

_Up. Down. Glide. Up. Down. Glide._

The approach of the General of Narnia had been announced to the convoy by Sea Birds. A formation of three Gryphons flying over the sea was extraordinary regardless. Even by their lamplight, she could see that several of the ships, knowing their manners, ran up Narnia flags.

The General made note of which knew to fly her own banner, a yellow Gryphon on scarlet.

The_ Trade Winds_ was near the front and she was small. The _Splendour Hyaline_ had had to be specially designed to accommodate a landing Gryphon comfortably. The crew had half-lowered her sails so they luffed in the evening breeze.

Banker Morgan was already on the deck, waving. Other members of the crew were wary and hanging back. One man was next to Banker Morgan with a spyglass; he was probably the Captain. Surely they knew something was terribly wrong.

"Narnia hails the _Trade Winds_ and brings urgent word for Banker Morgan," Haizea trumpeted.

"I am Captain Nerio, Seven Isles!" the Human next to Morgan shouted. "The _Trade Winds_ is honoured. How can we serve Narnia?"

Shqipe dove down for her pass over the ship and dropped on to the deck the harness she had been carrying around her neck. One of the crew scurried over and picked it up.

"General! What is it?" Banker Morgan cried as she flew past. "Why are you here?"

If she understood Humans better, Shqipe supposed she would have heard fear in Banker Morgan's voice.

"You must put that harness on!" she called, managing an awkward hover just beyond the ship's rail. "We have to fly you back to Cair Paravel."

"Why? What happened?"

"Jina is dead. The Pack begs you to return for her farewell."

"Dead?" Banker Morgan's hands flew up to her face and she swayed on her feet and far more than what the ship pitching on ocean would cause.

"Dead," the General repeated. "You must return with us for her farewell."

Nothing happened for several wingbeats. Shqipe finally had to fly about the ship and return back; she and the ship were not moving the same way or at the same speed.

Banker Morgan was on the deck, arms wrapped around her. She was crying.

_Crying. Oh by Zardeenah's three tits. Crying was not going to help._

"The Pack needs you, Banker Morgan!" Shqipe snapped. "You must light Jina's pyre at dawn. We have to hurry!"

"Hold on there!" Captain Nerio bellowed. "You're going to strap a Banker of Linch on to a gryphon and fly her over the ocean! At night!?"

_Humans. _

Maybe ripping his sails to shreds would remind the Captain that she was the General of Narnia and not a dumb ox.

"Yes!" Shqipe shouted back. "Banker Morgan is going to put on that harness, I'm going to pick her up from the deck of your ship, and we are going to fly her back to Narnia."

She had to circle again because Banker Morgan was crying earnestly with big gasps and sobs and making no effort to put on the harness. The sobs were very loud. Shqipe flapped to the stern of the ship and hovered. She could _just_ fit. _Maybe._

"You there!" Haizea ordered, flying over a group of sailors crowded together on the deck. "Move those barrels so the General can land!"

The men squawked like chickens and scrambled about to shove barrels and rigging to the side. Shqipe hovered, partially closed her wings, and thumped down on to the quarterdeck; the men cried out as the ship pitched under her weight. A very stupid sailor pointed a spear at her. _Really_. One snap of her beak and she could bite it, and him, in half.

"Jina died?" Banker Morgan sobbed, stumbling toward her. "How?"

"Snake bite, taken at Glasswater. Eirene was bitten too. I was able to fly Queen Lucy to her in time."

Banker Morgan wiped her face on her sleeve and sniffled. "But Eirene..?"

"Is well."

"And Har… King Edmund? Jalur? Are..?" She choked on another sob.

"Alive. Fine. Only Jina died."

"Thank you for saving Eirene," Banker Morgan sniffed.

It was good of her to say so, but Banker Morgan recognized Beasts as more than the dumb animals Captain Nerio obviously thought they were.

"You must come, Banker Morgan. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't so urgent. The Pack asks for you. It's your duty."

Banker Morgan eyes darted around and she looked like a bird caught in a snare. "General, how? How can I get back?"

Banker Morgan was not stupid or hard of hearing. Why did she not understand?

"I already explained. You put on the harness, I will fly over the ship, you will grab onto my fighting straps, and clip yourself to me. I will fly you back to Cair Paravel. And if I tire, Haizea and Liluye will carry you."

"But…" She looked at the ocean. "But I'll fall. I can't do that. It's…."

"You can swim, can't you? You fall, you land in the water, they haul you out and we try again."

Captain Nerio came forward, holding the harness. "AD Morgan? This is mad. We serve Linch. If you order it, we can change course and sail you back to Narnia."

_How dare he contradict her? Fool._

"This isn't your concern, Captain! This is Narnia business and there isn't time!" the General barked out. "Banker Morgan must be at Cair Paravel at dawn. The Hounds need you, Banker Morgan."

"Hounds?" Nerio repeated with an insulting sneer. "This is all about a _dog_? A Banker of Linch is going to hang from a gryphon all the way back to Narnia over _a dog_?"

Overhead Haizea and Liluye both growled so loudly, the sailors on deck ducked behind a mast.

"They asked for me?" Banker Morgan asked, speaking so quietly, Shqipe had to lean forward to hear her.

"Yes, Rafiqa and Rufus, ask on behalf of the Pack. You were Jina's closest companion. They wish for you to light her pyre. Jina would wish it, Banker Morgan."

Banker Morgan choked on another sob and nodded. "I understand. Captain Nerio, please help me with the harness."

"As the Banker commands," Captain Nerio said. Shqipe didn't like his tone. She growled at him and he took a few steps back and began fitting Banker Morgan with the harness. It was good to have another Human helping her; otherwise she would probably get the harness wrong and strangle herself.

Satisfied with the progress, Shqipe awkwardly tried to turn herself around in the small space of the quarterdeck. She would have to jump up and over the rail and flap very hard and fast to avoid hitting the water.

"General?"

She turned back around. Banker Morgan was wearing the harness, clutching the straps in her hands and fiddling with the clips. She was shaking so hard her words stuttered as they came out. "Is there any other way? I'm not good at things like this."

Shqipe knew that Roblang would tell her this was when she should be sympathetic and that she needed what he called _empathy_. A Gryphon did not understand what those things were. Maybe she was as hard as the stone that had entombed her for over ten years. She hadn't been dead – there had been no Aslan's Country. There been nothing except rock. She had the mind of a Bird and the courage of Lion. But her heart? Maybe it was Bird, too. Or, that was a part of her Aslan had not been able to thaw from cold stone.

"I doesn't matter if you are good at this or not, Banker Morgan." The Pack needs you."

"I'm afraid."

Sympathy and empathy were things her Bird brain did not understand. Fear, though, the General understood very well. "Banker Morgan, fear is natural. I will not say that no harm will come to you. That would be a lie. I don't know. You might die. I might die, just as Jina just died. But if you loved her, you must be strong and brave and do this for her so that she may be proud to call you her friend."

"I'm not brave, General. I'm not strong." Banker Morgan started crying again. "I'm not like you or the Four or anyone in the Army."

"But you have to be. Others need you to be. They depend on you."

Banker Morgan swallowed a big sob and straightened up in a way that made her almost like a Narnian soldier. Her mouth trembled and she had to wipe her face again. "I'll try."

She did try. The first time Shqipe slowly flew over the deck, Banker Morgan couldn't even grab on to the dangling straps. On the second pass, Banker Morgan grabbed onto the straps but couldn't clear the ship rail, slammed into the railing, fell back on to the deck, and started crying again.

The third time, Shqipe felt Banker Morgan grip the straps; the woman swung herself up very well and gave them both good momentum to clear the ship.

But Morgan kept swinging and went right into the sea. It was very dark but the crew shined lights on the water and with Banker Morgan's shouts, the sailors found her and were able to haul her up. Shqipe had to ignore the stupid ranting of Captain Nerio. Liluye and Haizea growled at him, clicked their beaks, and flexed their claws.

Banker Morgan was a Human woman, not a delicate Fledgling. Coddling wasn't going to get her back to Narnia to light Jina's pyre.

Shqipe made her fourth pass. This time, the catch was sure and she could feel Morgan holding on tightly and shaking with what was either fright or cold.

"Clip it!" Haizea and Liluye both called. "Clip it! Get yourself in!"

Shqipe felt fumbling beneath her. She concentrated on flying low and smoothly.

She was just beginning to worry that Banker Morgan would fall again into the ocean – and they were much farther from the ship – but then she heard the _click_ of the carabineer on to a ring.

"Well done!" Haizea crowed.

"One more," the General said. Beneath her, Banker Morgan swayed, twisted about, and cursed.

"I can't!" Banker Morgan was sobbing again.

"You can! You must!" she retorted.

"I'm trying!" she gasped.

Banker Morgan was grappling about and leaning at a terrible angle that badly unsettled Shqipe's balance. It was becoming very difficult to keep them level; Banker Morgan could drag them into the ocean and they would drown together.

"Morgan you must stop thrashing or we will crash. Just concentrate and get it done."

_Finally_, she heard the second click and the weight beneath her dispersed evenly. They were no longer listing dangerously to the side.

She pumped her wings and rose.

"I did it!" Banker Morgan cried.

"Bravely done!"

The General turned back and flew over the _Trade Winds_. Beneath them, the sailors shouted and waved.

"They are cheering for you, Banker Morgan!"

She heard Banker Morgan begin to weep again.

"Why are you crying?" Shqipe asked, very confused.

"I didn't think he meant Jina," Banker Morgan sobbed. "He said what came to Narnia could leave the same way. I didn't know he was going to take Jina to his door."

_That Lion. _She should have known Aslan had something to do with this.

Liluye and Haizea pulled up alongside her and, together, they slowly flew the length of the convoy. Then they turned west.

"Now we fly to Narnia," Shqipe explained. "We will be there by morning."

"I've never been so scared," Banker Morgan said. Her teeth were chattering.

"There is nothing to fear," Liluye replied. "The Moon lights our journey."

"The Stars will guide us to Cair Paravel," Haizea said. "We will not lose our way."

They settled into their steady rhythm. _Up. Down. Glide. Up. Down. Glide._

Banker Morgan wept for a very long time.

00OO00

Hoberry wished he could stuff cotton in his ears. The very stones of Cair Paravel were shaking with the keening of the Canines. He could make out Lambert's sonorous, mournful howl, Briony's sweeter one, and the deep melancholy of Rufus. He put his arms on the kitchen table, put his head in his arms and wished for dawn and that against all sanity, the Gryphon wing would return with Morgan.

"Here," Mrs. Furner said, and slid a mug of strong Calormene coffee into his hands. "I added some of that good distilled wine Queen Susan got from the Galman vintners."

He sighed and took the hot cup in his hands. "Forgive…"

"Oh do shut it, Mr. Hoberry," Mrs. Furner said, heaving into a chair next to him. Her drink was straight up brandy and no coffee. She sighed, echoing his own.

"Willa said the Queens are up in the Library," Hoberry said, taking a sip of the stinging hot brew. They'd learned the art of brewing it properly from King Edmund, who had learned it during his time in the Lone Islands. They were horrified that King Edmund was doing any such thing in their kitchen, but he had wanted Banker Morgan, his lady, to enjoy in Cair Paravel a proper coffee that tasted of her home. Except Narnia was to be her home now. _Wasn't it?_

"King Edmund is still with the Hounds. The High King was with him but he's probably snuck off to the Tree to be with Dalia by now."

The High King tended to retreat to the comfort of his first Guard during times of crisis.

Hoberry pushed away from the table. "I should take them blankets…"

"Sit," Mrs. Furner said wearily. "They won't be there much longer." She looked out the window at the lightening sky. Dawn was not far off.

"Roblang said the Pack will wait, even until past dawn, so that Morgan can light Jina's pyre."

"She'll understand, won't she?" Mrs. Furner stared at her glass. Took a sip. Took another, bigger one. "I mean, she let the Crows tear her gown to shreds. She carries food for the Rats in her pockets just as King Edmund does. She _manages_ Otters. Surely she'll come? For the Hounds? For Jina?"

Mrs. Furner wiped her eyes on her apron.

Hoberry sipped from the hot cup in his hands; it burned his tongue and loosened, a little, the knot of anxiety that had settled within him. "I think she understands. She will be devastated by Jina's death. What I fear is that she will not be able to make the journey. Morgan is not a brave person."

"Not brave like our Queens, but she's plenty brave in her own place, to hear tell what the Duffles said."

The Canine chorus had quieted and now picked up again, not as loud, but sadder. Dawn was coming.

Hoberry drank his coffee, felt its restorative effect, and thought he should take some to the High King. The others would prefer tea at this hour…

Booted feet clomped in the hall. "Hoberry! Mrs. Furner!" Roblang called. "She's coming!

They grabbed warm wraps, a skin of wine, and a carafe of coffee and hurried after Roblang out on to the front lawns. There wasn't a large crowd; most had gone to observe their own mourning or to doze until the farewell. Sea Birds and Crows were flapping about them, though even their caws and squawks were drowned out by the howling Canines.

With the Sun warming up the eastern sky, they could just make out the shape, coming slowly, oh so slowly, over the sea.

Sallowpad flew in and hovered. "Haizea and Liluye are supporting the General."

"Oh Aslan," Roblang muttered watching the Gryphons come in. They could just make out the shape dangling below them.

"All of you, give them room!" Sallowpad cawed at the circling Birds. "Everyone take a perch. You can't help here!"

It seemed an interminable wait and as they came closer, they could all hear Haizea and Liluye encouraging Morgan and the General. _We are almost there. You are heroes. Just a little farther. You can do it. Almost there. This is for Jina. The Pack needs you._

But if the grab, lift, and strapping yourself onto a Gryphon harness was harrowing, unclipping yourself from the harness and falling to the ground could even more so. A Gryphon could not land with a passenger dangling from her belly so the passenger had to release the carabineers and fall to the ground. There were often bruises and bumps even though the lawns were soft. Hoberry knew they frequently practiced the manoeuvre over water. The Satyrs prided themselves on their acrobatic dismounts.

The Gryphons came in over the Palace towers and barely cleared them. Seeing the woman dangling from the Gryphons' rigging, and knowing she was the awkward, peculiar Morgan of Linch was simply astonishing. Until he saw the four of them with his own eyes, Hoberry had not have believed it could be done. He had doubted Morgan would have the courage and the ability to do this.

The Birds started cheering encouragement and chants of _Morgan! Morgan!_ and _General! General! _

The General's wingbeat grew stronger, her flight straighter. She had taken heart and was lining up for her pass down the lawns.

"They'll be adding another verse or three to the songs about Banker Morgan," Mrs. Furner murmured.

The General, supported by her Wing-Seconds, glided down over the lawns, as low as she could possibly manage. They had done this many times before, but never quite like this, with someone so very ill-suited to it.

The chanting changed, first from Liluye and Haizea, then picked up by the cheering Crows and Sea Birds. They were exhorting Banker Morgan, _Let go! Let go! Let go!_

If Morgan didn't release in time, the General would run out of room on the lawns and would have to make another pass.

In a voice so weary it made him cringe, Hoberry heard the General croak, "Morgan, please, let go. You have to let me go."

They could see fumbling and movement beneath her, Morgan's legs were nearly dragging on the ground and, if she wasn't careful, she could pull the General down on top of her, and…

There was the sound of a snap of metal and Morgan broke free of the harness and dropped, with a hard _thud,_ flat onto the ground in a heap.

Hoberry picked up the blanket and coffee and ran across the lawn; Mrs. Furner was right behind him. Roblang was shouting orders. "Haizea, get the General on the ground! Get her water! Fresh meat!" Roblang was barking like the Hounds. "Someone, go get King Edmund and tell him and the Pack that Banker Morgan is here."

Banker Morgan hadn't moved from where she had fallen. Hoberry dropped to his knees on the damp grass and threw a blanket over the woman. She was shaking violently and dripping wet, her lips were cracked and her face and hair crusty with sea salt.

"You did it, Morgan. You're here. You're safe," he murmured, tucking the blanket around shivering body.

Mrs. Furner knelt next to them, put her arms around Morgan and brought her close.

Banker Morgan heaved a great, choking sob and threw herself against Mrs. Furner's shoulder.

"You're freezing, dear."

Hoberry poured a mug of the coffee from their earthen carafe and handed it to Mrs. Furner.

"You need to drink this, Morgan. You need warmth and it's just the way you like it, strong and hot."

Morgan hands were shaking too violently, so Mrs. Furner had to feed her sips.

"Where's…" Banker Morgan's voice was hoarse and raspy.

"They're coming," Mrs. Furner said. "King Edmund has just been told and you can be sure the Pack is coming, too." She began absently patting Banker Morgan with the blanket. Hoberry picked up the task and began gently blotting her body and hair dry. She must have fallen in the water or they flew so low she'd been spray-soaked and had probably been wet all night.

"All that howling?" Morgan asked in between sips of coffee that Mrs. Furner fed her.

"The Canines are keening for Jina," Hoberry said. "And hoping you will come."

Her lip began trembling. "I can't believe she's gone." She sniffed and Mrs. Furner gave her another drink.

"Everyone else is alive, well, and waiting for you," Mrs. Furner soothed. "You are so brave to do this for them and for Jina."

"I wasn't brave. I was terrified."

"Bravery is doing what needs doing even when you _are_ terrified," Mrs. Furner said. "It was bravest thing, I ever saw, Morgan. One of the bravest things _ever_."

From the direction of the Tilting Field, an excited, barking chorus was repeating her name: _Morgan! Banker Morgan is here!_ The excitement displaced some of the mournful howls.

Hoberry quickly got the coffee and the carafe out of the way. Morgan pulled her head up and out of the blankets. They helped her rise from the ground and steadied her, for she was still very unsure on her feet.

King Edmund's voice rose above the Hounds, powerfully and joyfully. "Morgan!"

The Pack, Rufus and Rafiqa in the lead, galloped across the lawns; King Edmund was running behind them. The Pack surged and broke around Banker Morgan and King Edmund had to swim through the whimpering Hounds to reach her.

King Edmund threw his arms around Banker Morgan, embracing her so completely, he lifted her off the ground.

Hoberry turned his head away, feeling tears smart in his eyes.

He tried to not hear the murmured endearments and heartfelt declarations.

Jina's death was tragedy enough; amidst the raw grief, what moved him now was the naked relief that Banker Morgan had managed to come, born by Gryphons, through the night, over the sea, out of loyalty to Jina. It was a feat worthy, not merely of a few verses, but of a whole epic lay.

ooOOoo

To follow, _Covered With Thorns_, which is the final chapter in Part 3, Death Of A Hound.

ooOOoo

Given the length of the chapter, I ended up splitting it and I felt the farewell and aftermath could wait. Mr. Hoberry refers to the Queens being in the library - that scene is contained within Chapter 20 of _The Queen Susan in Tashbaan_. Thank you for your support and I hope you will share your thoughts with me. I made the deliberate decision to use less immediate points of view.

From _The Power of the Dog_, by Rudyard Kipling

There is sorrow enough in the natural way  
From men and women to fill our day;  
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,  
Why do we always arrange for more?  
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware  
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

...

When the body that lived at your single will,  
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)  
When the spirit that answered your every mood  
Is gone-wherever it goes-for good,  
You will discover how much you care,  
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.


	20. Covered With Thorns

**Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance**  
**Chapter 20, Covered with Thorns**

_My longing for you keeps me in this moment  
My passion gives me courage_

* * *

Jalur hung back as the Hounds wove in, about, and around Banker Morgan and King Edmund. In a way very much like how Dogs herd sheep, everyone moved back and forth, this way and that, and very inefficiently, in Jalur's opinion. Still, they were crossing the lawns in the direction of the pyre set up on the Tilting Field. King Edmund had his arm around Banker Morgan.

The forward progress was impeded both by inefficiency and that Banker Morgan didn't want to go to the pyre. She was crying, very frightened, and very, very sad. The Hounds all begged her to come with them; they were _very_ distressed and whimpering. King Edmund, who Jalur could tell was very irritated, was urging Banking Morgan to _please_ do what they asked, _right now_, because the Hounds wanted it, the delay was making the situation worse, the Sun was rising, and the farewell needed to start.

Jalur knew King Edmund was very upset too. His King had been sullen, angry, and not communicating well at all. That wasn't a problem for him – Jalur felt what his King felt. But King Edmund had frequently been feeling one thing and saying another, and Jalur thought this could really be a problem with King Edmund and Banker Morgan now – and especially without Jina to help them. The pair of them usually did not understand each other very well even when they were calm and things were ordered.

_Should I say something? But that would mean saying something. What do I say? _

The voices got louder and everything tenser and then Rafiqa and Rufus sidled up to Banker Morgan. They were pleading with her to light the pyre because it was what Jina would want. They kept pushing their noses into her hands and against her legs.

Banker Morgan sagged in defeat, relented, and let them all steer her to the pyre.

The High King and the Queens were already lined up on one side of the pyre. The other Canines and everyone else in and about Cair Paravel - Beasts, Birds, Dryads, and the other Beings – were clustered around the pyre on the other three sides. Haizea and Liluye were there with other Gryphons of the Flight; the General, Jalur learned, was too weary to come.

"I need to stand with the others," King Edmund said to Banker Morgan, referring to how he was supposed to be with the High King and the Queens.

Banker Morgan was upset by this, too, but the Hounds were pushing and herding her to the opposite side of the pyre to be with them and Master Roblang had already moved to take King Edmund's place next to Banker Morgan. The Dwarf was supporting her and helping her walk.

_Did this make sense?_ _Where should Banker Morgan stand? With King Edmund?_ _Or with the Hounds?_ _Was there a proper protocol? _

Banker Morgan saw the linen wrapped bodies on the pyre and began sobbing again. She tried to stumble away from it, but she was hemmed in by the Hounds pressing against her. She fell to her knees; Master Roblang went down with her, supporting her so she didn't throw herself on the ground.

Jalur withdrew to the outer ring of the mourners. His King was well-protected within the circle and it was not comfortable being around so many others. He could better do his duty on the outside.

He had been to many farewells, first in the Army then as Guard. Some farewells were sad, like this one. Sometimes they were happy, in a way – _a celebration of a life well lived and rest well earned_ Master Roblang had told him once.

Cats didn't have much use for farewells, happy or sad. It wasn't in a Cat's nature to congregate with others for death, or anything else. Cats died as they lived – alone. In a peaceful death, a Cat walked away, into the Wood, and died. For a violent death, well, Jalur figured that you hurt a lot and then you died. However you got there, in the end, a Cat went to Aslan's Country.

The Sun was up. It was time.

The High King began. "Aslan, King of All, First and Last, your humble servants gather here to lament and farewell our friend, Jina. Aslan, your mercy is beyond measure. Please accept our prayers on behalf of your daughter and grant her entrance into your Country that she might join in fellowship with those already there. Grant that we may someday stand together with them in unity."

This part of the farewell, about granting entrance to Aslan's Country, Jalur really didn't understand. Any Beast could tell that the thing on the pyre wasn't Jina. It didn't smell like Jina or sound like her. What had made Jina the Hound she was left the moment she had croaked out a few words, convulsed, and died with King Edmund holding her. He had felt Jina leave her body. She was already with Aslan so why ask Aslan to admit her now?

Queen Susan spoke the lament for the dead in a shaky voice. "Sister Jina, we thank you for your friendship, your loyalty, and your wisdom. We thank you for your leadership of the Pack."

When the Hounds' moaning at this reference subsided, Queen Susan added, "We thank you for the love you gave to our friend, Morgan, and so also to us."

Banker Morgan sobbed as Queen Susan concluded, "Aslan, we thank you for the gift of our sister's life. We regret her loss for our sake but rejoice that Jina is with you."

Jalur was glad that Queen Susan had said these things about the friend Jina had been. He had liked Jina as well as any Beast. She had been a sensible, intelligent Hound who had made his management of King Edmund much easier. They had spent much time together when King Edmund and Banker Morgan had been together. He didn't really talk to anyone if he could avoid it and Jina had never attempted to make pointless conversation with him.

He would miss her quiet.

The keening of the Canines rose as Queen Lucy gently spoke the lament for those gathered around the pyre. "Aslan, you know the pain and loss of death. Your humble servant asks that you watch over us gathered here who mourn the death of our beloved Jina . Comfort us and let us hear the comfort that you offer. May your love for all your sons and daughters become the foundation of our hope that love never fails. Jina shall forever be held dear in our hearts."

Jalur wondered if King Edmund would weep or speak in broken words when _he_ died. Tigers didn't live as long as Humans, so he would certainly go to Aslan before King Edmund did. King Edmund had been very upset when Merle died and he was upset now and Jina hadn't even been his Guard. Jalur always worried that maybe King Edmund didn't love him as well as Merle. Would his King mourn Jalur's own death as deeply as Merle's?

If there had been a crime or violence, King Edmund would speak the lament for the wrongdoer. Instead, he nodded to Master Roblang who helped Morgan sit up. Roblang put the flint and steel in her hands but Jalur could hear how her hands were shaking on the firesteel.

"I can't!" Banker Morgan cried.

The Hounds pressed in closer.

"You can do this, Morgan," Roblang said softly. "We'll do it together."

Jalur heard the flint bang on the steel. Once. Twice. Over. And over. In other places and times, he supposed everyone might get impatient. Jalur didn't sense any of that. There were whimperings and sighs, those who cried were sniffing and he heard many muttered prayers. The Talking Birds were all quiet; even the morning song of the birds was muted.

The sudden _crack_ of a sure strike was so loud, it startled some birds out of the trees. There was an odor of heat and char; then a curl of smoke floated up as the spark caught the dry straw of the pyre and grew to a tiny flame.

Jalur felt a sigh of relief. Everyone clustered around the pyre stepped back for the fire spread quickly, as all Dwarf-made fires did, smoky, hot, and true.

The Canines keened again in mournful, long, howls. Their voices rose with the smoke of the pyre.

King Edmund spoke and his words were strong and clear. "We bid you farewell, Jina. Do not let our grief keep you from your journey home. Go your way to Aslan's Paws, to His Country, at the edge between this world and the next."

The Four all joined hands and Jalur repeated aloud the final invocation with the other Narnians. "Friends, who have gone before us, welcome our sister to the place we all must go in fellowship and joy. Farewell, Jina."

The Canines tilted the mouths to the sky and howled. The smoke spiraled up in thin wispy curls and and carried their farewell of Jina Lady Hound to Aslan's own Country.

ooOOoo

Grief and mourning altered everything, and memory most of all. Noll had been dead not even five years and Hoberry remembered virtually nothing of the aftermath. After making his confession, King Edmund had locked Noll up. Hoberry knew he had gone to the makeshift gaol, a sturdy, plastered storeroom they used for root vegetables in the winter. He remembered there had been a wizened turnip on the ground by the locked door but he did not remember pleading with his partner and mate of nearly 50 years or that they had both wept. Otieno had told him later.

There was a search of their home; King Edmund told him of it so Hoberry knew he had been there to open the locked cupboards. He remembered stitching up the velvet bolsters they had imported from Archenland but did not remember seeing the knife that had slit them open. All Hoberry remembered was Sallowpad seeing something that looked peculiar to his keen eyesight – was it a mismatched floorboard? A loose brick in the mantle? All Hoberry could remember was how shiny the Calormene crescents were that the Raven removed from the hiding place.

He remembered the sound of the dish he had been drying smashing on the kitchen floor when Queen Lucy had told him Noll had taken his own life.

If he could remember them, he was certain the strangest conversations he had ever had in his life had been in that aftermath. Grief did things to your mind. You said the wrong things to the wrong people at the wrong time; you spoke when you should not speak, and were painfully mute when only words would do. And you would remember none of it.

He knew he had babbled a very long time to Mrs. Furner about his and Noll's collection of Calormene erotica; he had insisted Roblang was interested in herb gardens; he had argued with dear Tumnus about tea and wine.

It was a lie, Hoberry knew, that time mends all wounds. It didn't. The holes got smaller, you learned to walk around them, and the times you fell into them inadvertently became fewer and farther apart. But death left a wound in the living that never fully healed, no matter how much time passed.

They all stood by the pyre until the flames died and the smoke dwindled to nothing. The mourners who had gathered began to disperse. The Queens said something to the High King. They were exhausted; even the High King was swaying on his feet. They were all in clothing that was at least three days old. Queen Lucy's shirt was streaked with dried blood, probably her own, and her arms and face were scratched – probably from her own frantic flight to the Glasswater. Mrs. Furner was with them and the Physician had a wine skin.

No one was drinking the farewell toasts. That would come later. He knew the Physician and Mrs. Furner had doused the wine with a light sleeping draught. The High King and Queen Susan drank; the Physician was saying something about needing to look at Queen Lucy's injuries first.

The High King, surrounded by Cheetahs and other Cats, stumbled away in the direction of the Tree. He would comfort the Felines and finally sleep with them. Queen Susan walked with the Dryads into the orchard; a train of dejected, small woodland Beasts followed her. Hoberry would be sure each had a blanket but, for now, the Monarchs would take and give comfort and warmth from the Narnians in their company.

Banker Morgan had fallen to the ground after lighting of the pyre. King Edmund had to get down on his hands and knees to move through the pile of whimpering Hounds who had attached themselves to her.

Hoberry watched as King Edmund put an arm over her shoulders, trying to pull her into an embrace. Banker Morgan turned her head away, doubled over with a dry sob, and shrugged off the King's encircling arm.

He shared a glance with Master Roblang who shook his head.

_This is not good.  
_

"I know," Hoberry whispered to the Dwarf.

You didn't know until it happened. With death, some clung more closely to the living as the High King and Queen Susan were doing, and as King Edmund was trying to do; others, like Morgan, did not. Perhaps the heroic flight by Gryphon across the sea and through the night had come at too high a cost.

Rufus slowly stood from the pile of Hounds. The Dog walked to them, head down and moving as though in pain. Roblang crouched down to Rufus' level and touched the grieving Dog on his head, around his ears, and down to his shoulders; he let Rufus nuzzle his beard and face.

The Dog sighed. "She's gone to Aslan; you'll see to the…"

"Of course, Rufus," Roblang said. "Once you all leave here."

Rufus was asking of the disposition of the last of Jina's remains that had not burned. Birds and Gryphons preferred that their remains be left on the pyre and scattered to the wind. Canine custom had them buried.

"By the bathing pond," Rufus said.

As much as the Tower Library, the pond had been a place that had come to be closely associated with Morgan and so with Jina as well.

"Jina wore a chain with tree on it. It was a gift from Morgan's sire." He glanced at the pyre and quickly looked away again. "Will you…" Rufus' low voice broke into a growl.

"Does the Pack wish to keep it?" Roblang asked, when Rufus could not speak.

"For now," the Dog replied.

"I will see it delivered to the Run."

Rafiqa edged away from the other Hounds on her belly. King Edmund and Banker Morgan were still in their midst, sitting next to, but not _with,_ each other. Their lack of physical closeness was a painful contrast to the way the Hounds were heaped upon one another and using scent, touch, and sound for support and strength.

_No, this was not good at all. _

Roblang opened his arms wider to include Rafiqa. Hoberry bent down and joined Dwarf and Hounds closer to the ground.

"Master?" Rafiqa asked in a small, sad voice. "What of Morgan? She needs a Guard, but maybe she doesn't want a Hound anymore…"

Rufus growled. "Morgan is one of the Pack. No one else may Guard her…"

"Peace, Friends," Roblang said quietly. "Your loyalty is a credit, but let it be for the moment."

Hoberry did as he had seen Roblang do and rubbed Rafiqa's domed head. He felt her tremble under his hands. "Jina was more dear to Morgan than any other, save King Edmund," he told the Hounds. "Give her time to grieve."

Rafiqa and Rufus both heaved heavy, near identical, sighs and returned to the other Hounds.

He and Roblang both stood. The Dwarf tilted his head and they withdrew, farther away, and out of earshot of the sensitive Pack. Even the Crows and Ravens were quiet; they stayed in their perches in the Trees and trees, sullen and hunched.

Roblang sighed, an echo of the Hounds. "She needs help."

"Yes." Hoberry looked carefully about and saw Jalur on the other side of the pyre, crouched down; his eyes were slitted and he was lashing his tail. So that Jalur would not overhear, he whispered even more softly, "King Edmund as well, for surely this has opened old wounds for him."

He was referring to how Merle, King Edmund's first Guard, had died violently, in an ambush – a victim of the conspiracy of which Noll had been part.

Roblang glanced to Jalur, indicating that he understood the reference and the reason for his discretion. Jalur could still be very prickly about the fact that he had replaced the King's much beloved Boarhound. "Given the magnitude of the loss, they are neither well-suited to understanding one another here." Roblang said. "I'll stay here and keep watch."

"Do you require anything?"

"No. I'll just sit under the tree over there and have a smoke and a quiet talk with Aslan."

He admired Roblang's ability to bespeak the Lion now. Hoberry knew it would be a few days before he would be serene enough to do so. _I'm not ready yet, Aslan._

He went into the Palace and with Mrs. Furner and they tried to pick up where they had left off two days ago. Or was it really three? They needed to light the ovens and start the bread again – the last loaves had risen and died in the pans, unbaked. They needed to replace the torches, change the linens, and freshen the rooms. The Cows, Goats, and Chickens had been very understanding, but there was milking to do, butter to churn, and eggs to collect. Vegetables had to be picked before they rotted on the vine and there were so many other details to see to. They had a small army of willing helpers, but still the tasks of daily management were many and more than once, they wished to consult Queen Susan or the High King.

Instead, he and Mrs. Furner delivered a blanket to each of the Monarchs who had fallen asleep where they had stopped: the High King was with the Cats in the Tree; Queen Susan was in the Grove, sheltered by a crooning Dryad, and surrounded by Rabbits, Hedgehogs, Mice, and the other small ones. They found Queen Lucy curled up on the floor of the Cave with Briony and the other Canines.

At dusk, he and Mrs. Furner went back to the pyre. Roblang was still leaning against the tree, legs stretched out. Most of the Hounds had left; a few still lingered. King Edmund was lying on ground, sound asleep, between Rufus and Rafiqa. Hoberry did not think Morgan had moved from her slumped over position.

"If we can get everyone away," Roblang muttered, rising from his watch.

It required effort. It was as if they had all aged during the hours of their vigil. The Pack had lost one of their leaders and so they crept about uncertain and bereft of their usual brisk, collective purpose.

Roblang was speaking to Dusmia, a Bitch from Jina's first litter, and Conall, who was Rufus' brother.

"Try to encourage them to eat," Roblang was saying to the Hounds. "At least drink. No one is on the duty roster for the next two days, but send to me any who need something to do. Alert me immediately if any fall ill. We need game for the Palace table so the Pack will lead a hunt by the end of the week."

The Dwarf rubbed his hands over Dusmia and Conall and Hoberry appreciated anew how truly gifted Roblang was with the Beasts of Narnia. Roblang knew the Pack needed jobs to do and temporary leaders with Jina gone and Rufus mourning. He had compassionately given them both.

Just the mention of the word _hunt_ was enough to make several heads and ears perk. Tails were not wagging, and they were uncommonly quiet, but the Hounds clustered around Dusmia and Conall and moved away toward the Run. The Pack's dens were upwind of and out of sight of the pyre, another bit of foresight by Roblang.

Mrs. Furner wrapped a blanket around Morgan and was helping her rise from the ground. Jalur was pushing King Edmund with his nose. "Your Majesty? It is time to go inside."

King Edmund rolled up and blinked like an owl. "Nightfall? Already? It's all run together."

"Grief does that, your Majesty," Hoberry told him.

He threw a blanket around King Edmund's shoulders and they all staggered into the Palace. He and Mrs. Furner had tried to make it cheerful and sweeter smelling to lift the gloom. The sconces were lit in the entry and on the stairs. They'd opened windows and left the doors open so that scent of herbs from the gardens and bread baking in the kitchen would spread.

Rafiqa and Rufus had followed them into the Palace. It bothered him to see that Morgan was deliberately turning away from the Hounds and ignoring them. This was surely hurtful to them and it was not good for her.

They climbed the stairs to the landing that led to the Monarchs' private wing in one direction and the guest quarters in the other.

King Edmund tried to steer her to his rooms. "Morgan… I… would you…"

Morgan pushed him away. "I'm going to my own room. I want to be by myself."

Still King Edmund followed her as she reeled down the hallway. By common accord, they all hung back, he and Mrs. Furner, the Hounds and Jalur. Hoberry did not hear the words King Edmund and Morgan exchanged. He saw Morgan dart under King Edmund's arm, fumble at the door to her seldom used room, and slam it behind her.

Rafiqa whimpered.

Over the next night and day, they tried. They all did. Did they try hard enough? Did they say the right things? It was a haze. Hoberry delivered trays to Morgan, but she refused everything except coffee and tea. Mrs. Furner did not put linens on the bed in Morgan's room, trying to get her out of the room and with King Edmund, but if Morgan slept, it was in a chair. She refused Mrs. Furner's offers for a badly needed bath and change of clothes – Morgan was still crusty with sea salt and in King Edmund's shirt and trousers. The Hounds and Jalur huddled in the hallways, whispering to one another. Hoberry did not know what they overheard but it was obviously not good.

King Edmund was miserable, repeatedly knocking on Morgan's bedroom door and trying to speak with her. Whatever he attempted, it did not work and he would leave her room shortly thereafter. Lucy's visits were a little longer, but to no apparent benefit. The High King and Queen Susan never made it passed her shut door.

The Otters left dead frogs and crayfish for her on the Palace steps. The Crows roosted in branches outside the window of her bedroom.

The _Trade Winds_ sailed into the harbour early the following morning, flying Linch and Seven Isles colours, and seeking news of their Banker. A crew sent a rowboat to the beach and rowed away again with Morgan in the stern and barely a word spoken to anyone.

In Morgan's room, they found ripped and crumbled parchment, which Hoberry recognized as an old contract that Morgan and King Edmund had kept in the King's rooms. There was a golden Lion broach on the dresser.

ooOOoo

Dictated to Master Roblang, Cair Paravel, by Rafiqa, Junior Hound, Palace Pack

Dear Banker Morgan:

Hounds do not speak letters much. We scent and hear, feel, and see, and a letter doesn't give us any of that. It's hard for me to use words when I can't sense you so far away. Before I spoke this to Master Roblang, Mr. Hoberry let me go to the bedrooms where you slept. Your scent was still there and it made me miss you more. Under the bed I found a handkerchief that you cried in during Jina's farewell. Mr. Hoberry said he was sure you would not mind if the Pack kept it for you, safe. So, we are and I hope you will return to get it back.

My mother's greatest joy was being your friend. I would like to be your friend and guard you and help you as my mother did. If you will have me.

Master Roblang said I should finish this with what I feel, so I say,

With sadness because we love and miss you,

Rafiqa

Oo00oo

As was his custom, Jalur stopped every morning in the Cair Paravel staff room before guarding King Edmund for the day. He would consult with Mr. Hoberry and Mrs. Furner, review the organization chart, and determine what of King Edmund's business would require his personal management. That morning, he could hear Mrs. Furner in the kitchens with Cook discussing the last of the apples to be picked and all the potatoes to be dug up before the ground froze. Jalur did not like fruits and vegetables at all.

Mr. Hoberry was within the staff room and Jalur pushed open the door with his nose.

"Good morning, Jalur!" the Faun said. "You are just the Beast I wished to see."

Why anyone would want to see a Tiger was something Jalur never could understand. He never wanted to see anyone except a Tigress when she was receptive to mating.

Mr. Hoberry was holding a paper-wrapped package. "This arrived for you."

He snuffled the package in Mr. Hoberry's hand. "It does not smell dangerous. It smells like travel and paper."

"That is good, then," Mr. Hoberry said. "Would you like me to open it for you?"

"Yes."

Mr. Hoberry did so. "It is a book." He turned it about in his hands for Jalur to see.

"A book? I have no use for a book. Who would send me a book?"

The Faun turned the book over in his hands. "There is a card. Hmm, ah, yes, I see now." He held out the card but the writing was very poor and so it was hard to read. Jalur squinted and he could just make it out some of it.

"It was to be Banker Morgan's Yule gift to King Edmund." Jalur said, staring at the writing.

"Yes. She intended to be here for Yule and ordered it before Jina died."

Mr. Hoberry opened the book. Jalur realized that, though he did not understand it, he had seen something like it before. "Banker Morgan has a book like this."

"Yes, she does," Mr. Hoberry said, slowly turning the pages. "She had the first volume. This is volume two."

"And?" Jalur finally prompted. Mr. Hoberry was looking at the pages in the book very carefully.

"Banker Morgan knew this book would arrive while she was still away and wanted you to keep it until she could surprise King Edmund with the gift at Yule."

"But now she isn't coming for Yule," Jalur said.

"No, she is not."

It was very dreary and no one knew what it all meant or if Banker Morgan was ever coming back. There had been no word at all for weeks. The Otters had also moved to the Glasswater to eat the snakes and Jalur was missing them as much as King Edmund was missing Banker Morgan.

Mr. Hoberry closed the book and studied the letter – he could probably read the scrawl better than Jalur could.

"So should we send the book back since she won't be here?" Jalur asked.

"This is a very difficult book to obtain," Mr. Hoberry said. "I'm sure King Edmund would like to have it even if Banker Morgan is not here to give it to him."

"Oh, very well, then." Jalur didn't really understand that but he supposed it was a Human thing. And, apparently a Faun thing. It was all too ridiculously complicated for a Tiger. "So perhaps I should hide the book and give it to King Edmund at Yule?"

"Yes, I think so," Mr. Hoberry said. He slipped the letter into the pages of the book. "He will know it is from Banker Morgan, of course."

"Well I wouldn't give King Edmund a book," Jalur replied. He was feeling testy about this whole exchange. This was suspiciously like Human behavior that was sometimes so subtle it was inexplicable to a Tiger. "I can hide it in the Library. There are many places there he never goes."

Mr. Hoberry began wrapping the book back up carefully and tied it with twine. "Jalur, did King Edmund arrange a gift for Banker Morgan?"

Jalur snarled. In addition to all the other management of King Edmund, he was also called upon to cope with his Monarch's courtship idiocies. "Manage Lovers" (or Former Lovers, or whatever Banker Morgan was) was, much, much, _much_ more tiresome than "Eat Threats To Monarch." He had overheard some of the exchanges between King Edmund and Banker Morgan before she left and it had been as if neither had been speaking the same language. He'd tried to help but King Edmund had just snapped that it wasn't Jalur's business and Banker Morgan just started crying when he tried to talk to her. And then she'd left without saying anything to anyone.

He had been dealing with it, _constantly_, and it was _exhausting_. King Edmund was moping, irritable and being utterly impossible, even worse than his usual Spring mood. His King had decided to be anywhere _but_ Cair Paravel, _or_ Archenland, _or_ Seven Isles, even though the weather had been horrible. So King Edmund had dragged him to Galma and Terbinthia _for _Yuletide_ shopping._ Jalur was _very_ annoyed about it. He _hated_ shopping.

"I thought not," Mr. Hoberry said with a sigh that almost sounded disapproving. "Do you not think it would upset her if she gave him something and he did not reciprocate?"

"Probably," He lashed his tail and nearly upended a rickety shelf of books. "What do you think?"

"I fear so, yes," Mr. Hoberry replied slowly. "Do you know what she might be pleased to receive?"

_Gift giving._ Aslan save him, he was being consulted on Yuletide gifts. _Again. _Next year, in defence of the Narnian monarchy, he would eat all the shopkeepers in Galma.

"She likes ink and parchment. She doesn't like flowers."

"Anything else?"

"I know she was looking for this book," Jalur said.

"That is an excellent idea, Jalur. It is also the sort of gift best enjoyed with the giver."

"Is it?

"It is. As it happens, the Fauns are familiar with this type of Calormene literature. Though Human-specific, it is not without applicability." Mr. Hoberry smartly tied up the book and set it on a shelf Jalur could reach easily. "I know of a bookseller in Tashbaan who specializes in this material and I know that there are other volumes available." Mr. Hoberry paused and Jalur realized a response was expected.

"Would you order something for Banker Morgan? From King Edmund?"

"But of course, Jalur. I can have it sent directly to her House in Narrowhaven."

"Thank you," Jalur replied.

"It is my pleasure, Jalur. Truly, it's the least I can do."

Oo00ooo

The breakfast room was usually too chilly at Yule but the windows had such a lovely aspect the four of them all bundled up. He and Lucy drank tea, Peter and Susan had their coffees, and together they watched the young Beasts romping outside through their first Yule snowfall. The Cubs and Puppies were an especially joyful sight that morning.

There were many Pups in the Cave and the Run this Yule. For the Canines, it was surely part of the way that they commemorated Jina and her litter who had never had the chance for life.

Edmund determinedly pushed the grim thoughts away and watched as Dusmia's largest, cockiest Pup was rolled by an even larger Leopard Cub. They were all laughing over the antics and even Jalur wasn't complaining. The Tiger had his nose pressed to the window pretending to not be interested that his own Cubs were wrestling in the snow with the Wolves from Lyall and Daci's litter.

"Jalur, do you wish to go outside and join them?" Edmund asked.

"Why?" Jalur replied.

If Jalur wanted no part of the romp, remaining uninvolved was more challenging for Briony and Lambert. On the one hand, they were very proud of their son, Lyall, and their grandpups romping in the snow. On the other, Lambert did not wholly approve of Daci's management of his legacy.

They drank the last of their cups just as playtime outside ended. The birds had flown off with all the breakfast crumbs they had tossed out the windows. The Hounds managed to round up their Puppies and Felina was carrying one squirming Tiger Cub in her mouth and pushing the other along. Lyall and Daci were herding their own exhausted Pups. "You would have never let our Pups get so overtired," Lambert muttered to Briony. "I think we should go help carry them back to the Cave. They might lose the Pups in a snow bank."

Briony looked expressively at Lucy and growled at her mate.

"If we do not leave soon, Mr. Hoberry will be setting up for luncheon," Lucy said, rising from her chair.

Susan's mouth was twitching in amusement at her grumpy Guard. "And you and I have very important gift wrapping still to do!"

Lucy and Susan joined arms at the door and went out, laughing at some great conspiracy.

The Wolves dutifully followed their Queens– undoubtedly to save their charges from scissor cuts and tangles in twine and ribbons. Lambert was still grumbling.

Edmund knew he had to make a quick getaway.

Peter, however, was a clever strategist himself and so pushed his chair back and stretched his legs, effectively blocking his planned escape. "Edmund, I know you have not …"

He interrupted his brother, hoping to forestall the awkwardness. "Peter, not now? Please?"

"How do you know what I am going to say?"

"Tone," Edmund responded. "Context. Cadence. Word choice. The meaningful pause."

"The brow knit with concern?"

"That too. Which will then be followed by the subtle suggestion which will escalate to the blunt demand that we adjourn somewhere private to dissect my feelings as a butcher disembowels a haunch. Followed by…"

"The weary, exasperated sigh of 'Edmund is doing it _again_,'" Peter concluded.

"Precisely." Edmund went the long way around the breakfast table to avoid Peter's blocking manoeuvre. His brother, did, however, have a long reach and Edmund could not avoid the hand on his arm as he tried to slide by.

"So, not today. It _is_ Yule. But when, Edmund? It has been weeks and you have said nothing but…"

"Mope and carp?"

"I was going to say, you have said nothing but surely should."

"It's fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine," Edmund repeated.

"How can you possibly be _fine_ when you yourself admit to moping and carping?"

Edmund shrugged away Peter's hand, feeling his very short temper give way. "You and Lucy prefer to discuss things over and over and treat them as if they were opportunities for profound affirmation of our familial bond. The day either of you comes _close_ to my former situation is the day on which you may offer opinion on my current state, and not until."

His words had uncomfortably increased in volume and intensity. But Peter didn't snap or thump him to the floor which Edmund knew his rude behavior deserved. His brother didn't say anything at all, but stared with that sympathetic understanding which was both infuriating and made his own bad manners appear even worse.

"I apologize, Peter, for saying such things. I don't know what comes over me."

"No?"

And here they were right back where they started. "I am not going to take that bait, Peter. I assure you that for me picking over it simply…"

"Makes it bleed?" Peter finished as Edmund floundered to finish the metaphor.

"Yes." And the wound still hurt too much to risk injury again. "There is no point to discussing it. It's not…"

"Not relevant."

"Precisely. I want to enjoy the holiday and we have our gift exchange this evening and the feast tomorrow. Please just let me be and do this my own way…" _Let me ignore and dismiss what could have been. I had thought I was loved, I had thought her loyal and obviously was grievously mistaken on both counts.  
_

"Very well." With the deep, disappointed sigh, Peter let him go. "But, Edmund, please think on this. Morgan is undoubtedly grieving."

Edmund scowled. He didn't want to hear _her_ name any more than he wanted to hear his pathetic duping and failure bandied about.

"Surely she does not understand that we who share in her grief could have helped her, if she had permitted it."

"Thank you, Peter for stating the obvious."

"The point, brother mine, is that those here who love you share in the grief you are bearing alone and we could help, if you permit it."

"Thank you for your sentiment," Edmund replied, hearing how stiff and stilted the words were. "I will take it under advisement."

He pushed by Peter. "Jalur!"

Edmund knew he didn't need to summon his Guard as if he were a dumb pet; but it gave him something to bark out when he couldn't really yell at anyone or hit anything.

He stalked out of the breakfast room and stomped across entry. The advantage to so widely communicating his anger was that everyone else would avoid him, which in truth, most everyone had been doing these last weeks.

Taking the stairs up, two a time, Edmund wanted to recapture that fleeting happiness from earlier – and knew just what might do it. His pace quickened.

"My King?" Jalur asked.

"In the Library there is something I wish to share with you."

"My Yule present?"

"Perhaps," Edmund teased.

Jalur rumbled and walked faster. His swinging tail betrayed his excitement. To be fair, Edmund knew he had been very keen on it himself. He ignored as _not relevant_ why seeing to every possible detail of Jalur's present, and those for Peter, Susan, and Lucy, had so occupied him for a month.

Before the frost set in, he'd found reasons to go to places _they_ had _not_ been together. He'd spent a ten-day with Lord Abnur on Galma, done a lot of shopping and even more sullen drinking. Abnur had very wisely given up women over a decade ago and had the blessed benefit of somehow knowing everything, without Edmund saying anything. Abnur had not once asked him to moan about his feelings, had amiably agreed that _yes,_ _women are inscrutable, _and then there had been the very helpful _here, let me pour you another drink_. Abnur had even managed the polite _no_, _not this time_, and the _Edmund,_ _my friend, it's time you went to bed, alone_.

Later, nursing a hangover and resentment for _her_ that had dulled to an ache, Edmund realised that Abnur had empathized with how felt terribly wronged he had felt, yet never criticised _her_.

Abnur was an extraordinary diplomat.

For Yule shopping he prowled the shops and crafthalls of Terebinthia and Galma – _not_ the ones with trees on the doors – and _not_ Archenland, _not_ Seven Isles, _not_ Tashbaan, _not_ those _other_ places that had been important to _them_. When they had been a _them_.

The Library was quiet and very empty. Edmund had avoided the place for weeks until work finally forced him back. It was easier to return here once he'd ordered the other desk, _her desk_, removed.

Jalur yawned, making sure his King saw his flashing teeth. "Now that we are here will you please tell me what has had you in such a state of anticipation?"

"I did not know you were so impatient for your present!"

"I am _not_ impatient for my present."

Edmund disagreed; Jalur was more excited than he would admit. Rather like his King in that he was feeling something and refusing to admit… _Not relevant._

"Your tension is annoying me and making it difficult to nap, which I shall need to endure the festivities this evening and tomorrow."

"Fair enough, my good Tiger. I have had quite the difficulty keeping it a surprise for you. I knew you would be able to smell it."

"Oh."

Jalur's nose and whiskers were twitching.

Edmund went to the safe and felt along the edges for the tiny splints he kept in the hinges. He'd not forgotten them since Noll had tried to plunder the safe – a trail of events that began with Merle's death and from there, eventually, to the Tiger now looking eagerly over his shoulder. He opened the locks and withdrew the package.

Jalur twitched and a rumble came out, part growl, part mewl.

Edmund laughed. It was wonderful to laugh and he was delighted to give so much joy to his loyal, long-suffering Guard, who has certainly borne the brunt of his temperament. He quickly pulled the wrapping off. The gift – he still had not decided what to call it – was the length of his arm, shaped like a long bone, and made of very, very tough ox hide, stuffed with wool and stitched together with gut and twine.

"Is that what it smells of?" Jalur asked in a voice full of hope. He was already drooling.

"Indeed it is. Having banished the Otters to the Glasswater, I know you miss them. So, I worked with the Dwarfs in the Smithy and Mrs. Furner and Mr. Hoberry to have this made for you."

He put the bone-shaped pillow between his hands and squeezed. It squeaked. Jalur's tail lashed so hard, he knocked over a chair.

"What is it?" Jalur asked.

"I do not know quite what it is, but it is for you."

"But the smell?" Jalur asked. "It reeks of Otter."

"Once it was made, I took it to the Glasswater and let the Otters play with it. They had quite the time with it. I had to promise them more snakes to get it back."

It had been painful but necessary to return to the place of Jina's death. _Do not let my grief keep you from your journey home, my Friend._ Only after that pilgrimage had he been ready to make the farewell toast with his brother and sisters. _She_ should have been there with them … _not relevant_.

With more force than necessary, Edmund lobbed the pillow to Jalur.

The Tiger caught the toy easily between his teeth, carefully bit down, and the squeak sounded just like an Otter chirp. Jalur growled, tossed the pillow into the air, caught it by an edge and shook it. It sounded like rattling bones and breaking necks. Jalur clamped down on the pillow again and growled.

It was the most satisfying gift he had ever given and his Guard's enjoyment was the best gift in return he could imagine. The Dwarfs had outdone themselves. Edmund owed them a cask.

"Twank u," Jalur managed to say, even with the toy stuffed in his mouth. Edmund touched the great head bent before him.

"You are very welcome, Friend."

Edmund closed his strong box and replaced the splints.

Jalur spit out the toy. "I have something for you as well,"

"Oh?" That was surprising. Jalur had not given him gifts before. It wasn't in the Tiger's nature.

"It is on a shelf in the back." Jalur went down the long aisle but kept turning back to eye his new toy. Edmund wondered if he should assure his Guard that having given the gift, he was not going to steal it away. Jalur disappeared in a row of shelves and came back with a package wrapped in linen and twine in his mouth.

Jalur dropped it into his hands and went right back to his toy, settled in the middle of the library in a patch of weak sunlight, and wrapped a possessive paw around it.

"In this, I am a messenger," Jalur said.

Edmund carefully removed the wrap. He knew what it felt like, the shape and heft of it.

_The Language of Love - Volume 2!_ "Jalur, how did you get this?"

"It is from Banker Morgan. She sent it to me and Mr. Hoberry to keep and give to you at Yule."

Edmund opened the book, slowly turned the richly illustrated pages, and ran a finger lightly over the illuminated text.

A piece of paper fluttered out. He bent down and picked it up, gingerly. Jalur snorted into his pillow.

He would recognize her scrawl anywhere. She had written it before Jina died, when a whole future had awaited them.

_Dearest Harold,_

The "Harold" was struck out and she had written "Edmund" in the margin.

_I don't write much better than I speak and I don't want to dictate this. I found it! Volume 2! Look especially at illustrations 4, 13, and 22. We need some things to do them properly so I'll pick those up and bring them back with me when I return, for good._

_We'll have all winter to try them and every winter after that. Summer too._

_Could you look up what the Narnia Regalia says about marriage and bonds? Jina and Eirene told me the story about the Monarch's bonding with Narnia but what do we have to do for ours? Among the banking Houses, it's usually a contract and if you aren't in a House you sign a book at the Governor's House and may hire a House to write a nuptial agreement. I'll have to work it out with my father what's needed on our end. Bankers haven't married Kings before._

_The poem on illustration 4 says how I feel better than I ever could. Maybe you could tell me sometime which one describes best how you feel about me? I think it's easier for us to use the words others have written than to try to come up with on our own._

_Love,_

_Morgan_

With a shaking hand, he slowly turned to illustration 4 and the accompanying text.

_My longing for you keeps me in this moment  
My passion gives me courage_

_Although I may try to describe Love  
When I experience it I am speechless  
Although I may try to write about Love  
I am rendered helpless;  
My pen breaks and the paper slips away  
At the ineffable place  
Where Lover, Loving and Loved are one._

Edmund closed the book and, for the first time, felt more sad than hurt. He had grudgingly justified it as her arbitrary choice and it was his duty to respect it even if Morgan's abrupt departure had felt like betrayal and cowardice. Maybe their bond wasn't strong enough. Maybe they didn't deserve happiness.

Or, maybe they just had not fought hard enough for it.

"I did not give her a gift," he admitted to Jalur. "I couldn't give the one thing she would want. I can't bring Jina back." He had come to believe that Jina had been more important to Morgan than he was.

"But, you did send a Yule gift," Jalur said.

_What?_

"I did? _How?_"

"Through Mr. Hoberry, we obtained another volume of that book and had it sent to Linch House. You forgot to include a note, so when you write to thank her for the gift, you may include it then."

"I _have_ meant to write her. I have not known what to say to her."

"And now you do. Please convey my best wishes to Banker Morgan and that I hope to see her in the Spring."

Jalur settled his massive head on his new pillow; it squeaked and he rumbled in pleasure at the sound. His eyes started to close.

Edmund stared at the Tiger. Jalur and Mr. Hoberry had conspired to do what, out of hurt and anger, Edmund had not been able to do. What he should have at least tried to do.

_My passion gives me courage_

"Your Majesty? Something amiss?"

"No my dear Friend. Nothing at all. I shall do as you ask. And, thank you."

"You are welcome."

"Aslan's blessings on you this season, Jalur."

"And to you, my King."

00OOO

Hoberry didn't hear the knock at first. He had been playing his pipes and watching the flames dance in the grate. The bang was not the winter wind, but a knock on his cottage door.

It was King Edmund. Hoberry had a sudden, disorienting return to the day when the King and a company of Rats, Crows and Roblang with a steady knife tore his home apart looking for evidence of Noll's betrayal.

But that had been summer not winter and the King had been grave and today he was alone, smiling, and there were flecks of snow over his cloak. "Your Majesty!"

"I apologize for bothering you so late, Mr. Hoberry, but …"

There was a terrific roar. The King turned around and they both watched as Jalur tossed his new leather toy high into the air, leaped up, snagged it in jaws, and came crashing down into a snow bank, savagely shaking his head. The toy went flying.

They both laughed. Jalur was acting just as an enormous, stripped kitten.

"He enjoys his Yule gift," Hoberry said.

"He does and my thanks to you and Mrs. Furner for assistance in seeing it done." The King paused. "Might I have a few words…"

"Of course, King Edmund, my apologies." Jalur growled, stalked, and then pounced on his toy. Snow and leaves flew in all directions. "Please come in."

King Edmund stepped across the threshold and Hoberry shut the door. "May I take your cloak? Would you like a glass of spiced wine for the holiday?"

"No, thank you. I'm expected back to open gifts with the others. But I did wish to speak with you. I understand from Jalur that it is through your auspices that Morgan received a gift from me?"

He was momentarily flummoxed and knew he should have planned for this inevitable query. The King did not appear angry, but he could hide his emotions and intent very well when he wished to do so. _Best to own up to it. Lying always made the problem worse._

Hoberry thought again of Noll, dead by hanging in the storeroom.

"I hope you will forgive my presumption, King Edmund. Banker Morgan had told me she intended to be here at Yule and when the book arrived, it was clear she had intended it for you. I could not very well reveal the need to reciprocate a gift when you were to be ignorant of the cause."

"I'm not angry, Mr. Hoberry. I do prefer to maintain the illusion that I can see to my affairs alone. Jalur, of course, emphasizes daily that I require a great deal of _his_ personal management and, though I am concededly ignorant as to its precise contours, I suspect you play a significant role in that management."

"Your Majesty, I don't know that…"

King Edmund crossed his arms across his chest and awarded him that raised, sardonic eyebrow in which Queen Susan most particularly excelled.

"We all do what must be done to see it done," Hoberry settled upon.

"Quite. To that end, I must write to Morgan and…" King Edmund sighed and sagged a little. "I feel dishonourable taking credit for a gift that was yours in idea and execution. Yet, I am very grateful that you and Jalur took the initiative. Your management prevented me from compounding the errors, I suppose."

Hoberry weighed the options of how to best respond. He and so many others very much wished Banker Morgan to return. Leszi had not paid up on the case of wine. He'd lost a considerable sum to the Murder. And Narnia needed Morgan of Linch. King Edmund did not need Banker Morgan – he had, after all, grown into a wise King and good man without her. However, King Edmund was a better, gentler man with Banker Morgan. It was an important distinction. Love improved upon what was there.

"Please consider it my Yule gift to you and Banker Morgan, your Majesty. As with the courting of before, I would have certainly rendered similar, _discreet_ assistance to you if she had been here for Yule."

"True, I would have asked you and Mrs. Furner what would be appropriate gifts." The King rubbed a hand over his face. "So you do not object if I take more credit than is my due?"

"To the contrary, your Majesty! I insist!"

There was another roar from outside; perhaps Jalur's toy had tried to escape.

King Edmund smiled and looked happier than he had in weeks. "Very well. My thanks for your _discreet_ assistance. So I am clear, what precisely did I sent?"

"You ordered volume 3 of _The Language of Love_ through a specialty purveyor in Tashbaan and had it sent directly on to Linch."

"Volume 3!" King Edmund exclaimed. "I had no idea the Calormenes were so expressive!"

"There are 6 volumes, in fact, your Majesty. And a special Appendix."

ooOOoo

Dear Morgan,

I write to thank you for the Yule gift. Jalur was quite unimpressed with the book but he and Mr. Hoberry did see it delivered into my hands. Jalur thoroughly enjoyed his new Otter chew toy. He has taken to sleeping with it and hides it in the Library so that no one else will steal it. Whoever deigns to mock him for it receives a terrifying growl.

The irony of your gift to me and mine to you is that here we now sit, each with our own copy, an ocean apart, and unable to enjoy either gift together as we had both intended. And so, I hope that we will see you again, in the Spring. "We" does not convey the whole of what should be written and said. I hope that I will see you again in the Spring.

Jina is the second Hound most dear to me who passed unexpectedly and brutally from my arms into Aslan's paws. This means that I do understand your bond to Jina and how it feels to lose that greater, better part of yourself. Hounds do not live as long as we do and I have long thought it is because they have less to learn of life and love than we poor Humans. They give so much and so well, their lives burn out that much quicker. Surely it is a strain to live with such a great heart.

Though I know it will grieve you anew, Jina's last words were of you. You were very much in her mind. She went more easily into His Paws knowing that she would see you again in Aslan's Country and that until that time, the Hounds of the Pack would always be by your side.

I feel this was our first real test, Morgan, and that we failed each other. I scarce remember what I said to you but it was surely not what you needed. For my part, I was hampered by my own grief and the horror of reliving my loss of Merle, my first Guard, barely 5 years ago. Also, it pains Jalur so much to hear of Merle, I must be doubly cautious. Jalur does not understand how I could have loved Merle so well and yet also learned to love him, differently yes, but as deeply, once my grief passed.

For your part, in thinking on it further, I fear that this was the first time someone you deeply loved died unexpectedly and violently. I worry that you now bear this burden alone with those who love you, yes, but who may not understand your profound loss. Grief shared is grief lessened. These weeks would have been more bearable for both of us if we had endured them together. We were separated before our work of mourning could even begin.

The Narnians are making songs and stories about the heroic flight of the General and the brave Baker. We should be hearing them together.

It came to my attention recently that members of the Pack are, in odd, quiet hours, being escorted by Mr. Hoberry into my rooms and yours. The purpose is so that the Hounds might perceive whatever of your scent still lingers in those places and keep your memory fresh and alive. This means there are many who doubly mourn. We grieve for the loss of a very great and noble Hound and we grieve for your sudden departure and no assurance of your return.

Their perception is greater than mine. You are gone and I cannot sense your presence except in the odd item I find – a tie for your hair, a scrap of parchment, a broken quill, a bookmark.

I hope you will return. You have very much become a part of our life, and mine. I wanted to make our life together, my love. It ended before it even started and I most ardently wish it otherwise.

You asked what passage from volume 2 most expresses my feelings. I found two.

From illustration 15,

_Oh Sweet Bitterness!  
I will soothe you and heal you  
I will bring you roses  
I too have been covered with thorns_

The roses, of course, are metaphorical.

And from illustration 7,

_In your light I learn how to love  
My old self is a stranger to me  
Because the idol is your face, I have become an idolater  
Because the wine is from your cup, I have become a drunkard_

_I used to read the myths of love  
Now I have become the mythical lover_

With my deepest affection and love,

Harold

P.S. I sincerely request the return of my shirt and trousers, but only if you are wearing them.

ooOOoo

To: King Edmund the Just, Count of the Western March, Duke of the Lantern Waste, Wandbreaker, Knight of the Order of the Table  
Cair Paravel

From: Seth Gage Stanleh, formerly Assistant Director, House of Stanleh  
Duffle Clan Hold

Dear Sir:

Forgive me in advance if my method of address is impertinent. I hope this season finds you and your family well. I have enjoyed a pleasant Yule with the Duffle Clan and gladly accept the offer made by your esteemed sister to visit Cair Paravel at the turn of the year.

My purpose in writing is three-fold. First, please accept my condolences on the death of Jina.

The report of venomous snakes in Narnian lands is my second reason for writing. I draw your attention to the Menagerie at Tokat-Rize (hereinafter "Menagerie") represented by the House of Stanleh. You may recall that the Menagerie was one of the entities identified by Assistant Director (hereinafter "AD") Morgan of Linch as likely to be receiving funds from the Zalindreh Building and Works (hereinafter "ZBW") for purposes of funding the aggressive ambitions of Prince Namavar and his faction. The Menagerie has, most likely, since dissolved.

My sister and I had only passing familiarity with this account as it was managed by our late grandfather. Nevertheless, I specifically recall observing significant sums directed from ZBW to the Menagerie to an account referred to as "Serpent." As it was a menagerie, my sister and I thought it of no consequence; certainly the account went through the normal confirmatory review by the other Houses during shut-in and approval at Conclave.

In light of the current situation in the Glasswater, I find it a peculiar coincidence and in speaking my concern to Master and Mrs. Duffle, they urged me to write.

Further, upon the occasion of Jina's death, Otieno mentioned the death of another guard under violent circumstances that ultimately resulted in the apprehension of a ring of Mole spies led by a Faun who later took his own life. Otieno intimated that there was a suspected Calormene connection in these events.

The Menagerie had a related entity, whose purpose was, the Director told me, to pay agents who advanced Calormene interests in the North. I recall that the entity abruptly folded about five years ago. Again, our Director handled the account himself and so my information is both old and scant.

A Banker does not speculate. Nevertheless, I do wonder if this situation in the Glasswater is a new phase of a long range plan dating at least to the spy ring.

Last, I understand that the Narnia crown has approved the Lagour venture. As I assisted you, AD Morgan of Linch, and now the Duffles in making the business case, and having just now provided information important to the security of Narnia, I respectfully submit my credentials for continuing work on the Lagour venture. I request permission to undertake the ongoing, confirmatory audits of the operation to assure its compliance with Narnian priorities. I would like to discuss the matter with you or your representative at your convenience.

Sincerely,

Seth Stanleh  
Former AD, House of Stanleh

00oo00

* * *

And here ends _Death of a Hound_, Part 3 of _Harold and Morgan: Not a Romance_. The conclusion, Part 4, _The Golden Age_, will follow in the spring of 2013.

The poetry is excerpted and adapted from _The Love Poems of Rumi_, edited and translated by Depak Chopra

The part with Jalur receiving his Yule gift from King Edmund is in _It's The Thought That Counts_, now slightly revised and told from a different point of view.

If you are reading, I hope to hear from you.


	21. Home is where the heart is

Harold and Morgan: Not a Romance  
Chapter 21, Home is where the heart is

* * *

Constance Meryl's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day improves when she gets drunk with Lord Peridan. Banker Morgan returns to Narrowhaven and her nearest and dearest immediately plot to send her back.

* * *

This is the beginning of the very end, the first chapter in the final arc of _Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance_.

* * *

Heretofore, two days vied for the worst in Constance Meryl's life. The worst had been the day that nitwit Gertrude (Constance refused to call her _Director_) Meryl, decided to give Constance's beloved, Alan, and Constance's own House, to Morgan Linch.

The second worst day of her life had been some thirteen years earlier when a very young Queen Lucy did not take Constance with her to Cair Paravel when she left Constance's home at the Anvard Pass Keep.

This day, though, surpassed both.

It started well enough. As much as she was loathe admitting it, her months as titular acting director of the House of Stanleh had been educational and illuminating. Every Stanleh Banker, from the most senior to the lowliest clerk, was intelligent, hardworking, and creative. Their reputation as the most sophisticated of the Houses was truly earned and deserved.

After the depredations of her grandfather and brother, a lesser person than Maeve Stanleh would have cashed in and run off. Maeve was having none of it. She was determined to salvage her House, its reputation, and their clients. Clients were flirting with other Houses so Maeve slashed their fees and begged them to stay for just six months on a trial period. Most of them did and income, which had plummeted after Conclave, was slowly rising again.

Maeve was widely seen as the principal drafter of the new Code – not wholly true, as Pierce Linch was equally engaged, both with Maeve and the Code. On the assumption that the one who wrote it would be the one best positioned to take advantage of it, Stanleh was not only retaining old business but slowly gaining new business as prospective clients came to the House for advice on how to turn the new Code provisions to their advantage. The difference now was that in the past where Stanleh would refer its extra and conflicted business to Sterns, now Maeve directed leftover business to Linch and Meryl. Make no mistake, Stanleh slops were a banquet to lowly Meryl and everyone was profiting.

In all, it was a fair trade. Constance was learning the business of business from the very best of the Known Lands; in return, she made favourable reports on Stanleh's reform to Narnia – which did not contain _significant_ omissions and were, for the most part, true. The Narnians overseeing the work were clever, but not as clever as the Stanleh Bankers. More than once, something would slide by that a year ago, Constance would not have even noticed. She and Maeve would exchange a look and Constance would initial it as approved.

Morgan was the only one who might have noticed these sleights of hand, rightly or wrongly. If Morgan had been there, every assumption would have been challenged, every endeavor questioned, every motive scrutinized. Some of it would have been justified, a lot of it would have been thinly veiled personal sniping, and the whole process would have been _excruciating_ and _exhausting_.

But Morgan wasn't in Narrowhaven. It had all been muddled when King Edmund had sailed away so abruptly after Conclave and left Morgan behind. _That_ had not been according to Constance's careful scheme and an irritating error to be sure. There was no uncertainty now. The ladies of the Known Lands were devastated even as Constance had celebrated for the solid intelligence out of Anvard was that the King Edmund had come to King Lune's court to woo the Banker of Linch and she had returned with the King to Narnia.

Constance could not be more pleased with the outcome. It was only a matter of time before all was resolved satisfactorily. Surely, an announcement could come any day.

Most everyone else had adjusted to the new reality. Pierce and his father, Director Linch, no longer spoke of the supposed marriage of Morgan to Alan Meryl. The Linch were always careful, conservative, and planned for every contingency. With the Code no longer limiting the number of ADs a House could have, Director Linch promoted two talented juniors to train with Pierce, takeover Morgan's accounts, and possibly even, eventually, assume leadership in the House.

Only Gertrude Meryl continued the fantasy and occasionally made a stupid remark to Alan about Morgan. Alan didn't even bother arguing with her about it and would just say, "Take it up with King Edmund, Mother, and do let me know what he says." Under the revised Code, they were all so much freer – she, Maeve, and Pierce had seen to that when they drafted it.

She had put in the petition to Lord Peridan and Ambassador Tumnus and assuming they accepted (and why wouldn't they when she had made the recommendation?), at Conclave, House Stanleh would revert back to Maeve, and Constance would return to her own house and finalize the nuptial contract with Alan.

All this was managed just fine, better, even, without Morgan. At this point, with the Code done and Stanleh reformed, Morgan's next project should be producing some heirs for the Crown and stabilizing a succession so that none of their investments in Narnian interests would disappear if the monarchs did. If Morgan just put her mind to the task, as she single-mindedly did to _everything_, Constance thought they'd be looking at decades of peaceful, stable prosperity.

It was a good time to stabilize House successions as well and rearrange them to the liking of the next generation. She was looking forward to producing and training House Meryl successors herself. Maeve and Pierce were anxious to do their duties to their respective Houses. Director Linch had, more than once, told Pierce and Maeve _to please just get on with it _because even if Linch leadership skipped a generation, he was still young enough to train up heirs for their House. As Stanleh got his son, and Narnia got his daughter, he was within his rights to insist upon the first grandchildren for his House.

Constance still could not credit Pierce and Maeve together but they were inseparable. They had already signed the book at the Governor's House and announced their intentions by setting up a joint office in a suite of rooms at Stanleh House. The only formality remaining was to sign the draft nuptial contract and they were waiting on that until they could execute it under the new Code.

All was going very well, if still tedious, and the endgame was in sight. So, the morning of the worst day of her life began as every other had since Conclave, with Constance encamped in the dreary, dark, blood-red office of the Stanleh Director and poring over the latest work. Today, she was dutifully reviewing and signing off on the new accounts opened.

No amount of flowers and open windows could fully counter the oppressive atmosphere of the office but Constance persevered. Knowing that Maeve could do this in half the time and twice the accuracy kept her mind (mostly) on the task. The open window meant she heard every sound outside in the street. At first, it was merely the normal hum of Narnian Birds going from House to House and the Bankers in the street below.

The din, though, continued to grow and eventually became genuinely noisy. The Birds were all chattering and calling so it was impossible to make out what they were saying but when she finally rose from the padded seat to look out the window, she saw the Narnians living in Upper Town all rushing to descend the Silver Stair that would take them to Lower Town.

As a Centaur, Warin, trotted down the flagstone street, Constance called in her best Narnian inflection, "Friend Centaur! What news? Is something amiss?"

"There's an orange flag flying over the Governor's House, Director. All Narnians that can are asked to report there."

_Typical._

The expected knock on the door was a moment later. "Come in!"

Maeve and Pierce hurried in just as Constance shut the windows to deter any sharp Narnian ears.

"You heard the news?" Maeve said.

Pierce went to the window and looked out. "We can't see it from here but the Crows said Peridan and Tumnus have run up the orange flag."

"Maybe a Narnian ship is arriving unexpectedly?" Constance asked.

"But that wouldn't require every Narnian, and not us," Pierce said.

"It's odd," Maeve said. "Tumnus and Peridan are very adroit. If something involved Banker interests, they would summon us by messenger and send an escort. I think whatever is going on must be very concerning for them, but not affecting us." She paused, frowning, and Constance could see the rapid fire calculation. "I am hard-pressed to imagine what that might be."

Pierce squinted in the direction of the Governor's House then turned away from the window. "I should go speak to Father. He'll likely be consulted next."

He kissed Maeve on the cheek and hurried out.

Maeve's fond, dewy-eyed look at Pierce's departing backside was cringe-worthy.

"I've signed off on the new accounts," Constance said brusquely, interrupting Maeve's dreamy sighs.

Maeve left off of her fantasizing and crossed to the enormous walnut desk to look at the records. "You don't have any questions or substantive comments?"

"No," Constance replied, feeling another twinge of irritation. Maeve was _always_ testing her acumen. She wasn't as brilliant as some of her arrogant peers, but Constance was very good and that was good enough.

"Well, maybe someday, you will. I keep waiting," Maeve replied, and began collecting the papers.

"Those two on top, the Seven Isles merchant fleet and the Calormene perfumer, are not strictly legal under Narnia law, and you and I both know why," Constance said, annoyed that Maeve's smugness had goaded her into defending her intellect, again. Alan had helped her with the legal analysis. "But neither is hostile to Narnia or Archenland, so I approved them as new accounts for the House."

"Paying a five figure deposit forgives many perceived ills," Maeve said. "And _thank you_, truly. With these new accounts, House Stanleh has just reversed our trend and moved back into profitability for the first time this year."

If Pierce Linch's backside had made Maeve go dreamily vacant, the prospect of turning around the fortunes of her House made her positively glow with enthusiasm.

Constance saw black wings flutter at the window and a Crow settled on the ledge and rapped the pane with a sharp, impatient rat-tat-tat.

"That will be our summons to attend upon Narnia," Constance said softly. Crows wouldn't be able to hear through glass.

Maeve snorted. "And we go running to them like trained dogs."

Constance slammed her hand down so sharply, Maeve nearly dropped the ledgers. "How many times do I have to tell you? Don't use animal comparisons!"

The Crow rapped on the pane again and Constance hurried over to the window, very glad there wasn't a sharp-eared Hound or Rat outside the door. "You never get them right! Ever!" Honestly, Maeve could be such an idiot sometimes.

She pushed open the window. "Friend Crow! How might we serve Narnia?"

ooOOoo

Service to Narnia required that she and Maeve quit Stanleh and hurry to Director Linch's office. Just as they stepped out into the street, a mournful howling rose around them. They couldn't see the Canines who were probably all down at the Governor's House, but the sound was wrenching.

"That doesn't sound good at all," Maeve said. "Did you ever hear the like in Archenland?"

"No," Constance answered, shivering in spite of the midday autumn warmth.

A teary clerk admitted them to Linch House. In the open air courtyard around which the Linch compound was designed, the Bankers and House staff were sitting on benches with the family of Rats who had lived in the House since Conclave. Only constant practice kept Maeve from grimacing. While Constance did not have the same visceral reaction it was still remarkable to consider –who would have thought that the staid Linch could have all gone _so_ _Narnian_?

"What happened?" Maeve asked the clerk who blew her nose and directed them upstairs to the Director's office.

The clerk sniffed. "It's terrible. Lord Peridan and Ambassador Tumnus are with the Director now."

On the stair to the second floor, Constance looked around but didn't see any whiskers lurking around the corner or feathers on the cornices. To Maeve she hissed, "_People_. _Remember_?"

Maeve brusquely shrugged off the hand Constance had put on her arm. "_Vividly_, Director!"

Over and over she had schooled the Stanleh and Meryl Bankers in proper Narnian protocols, but as with Maeve's reference to trained dogs, still they made errors. Alan, of course, adapted beautifully and she wished he was here now. Constance took a deep breath and pushed aside the calculation, the scheming, the Banker way of thinking. With Narnians, it was all about the _feeling_. Genuine _feeling_. Hopefully, Maeve would follow her lead. Something dreadful had obviously occurred.

A large spotted Cat was outside the Linch Director's office door – Constance wasn't so Narnian that she could tell the differences among Leopards, Cheetahs, Jaguars, and other spotted Felines.

"You are expected," the Cat said.

Constance smiled and bowed, went in first, and let Maeve stay on the side away from the Cat.

The atmosphere of the Director's office was very somber. Tumnus and Peridan were seated with the Director, who looked shaken. Pierce looked no better and Maeve immediately went to his side.

"What has happened?" Constance asked as Tumnus rose from his seat. She reached her hands out to the Faun in her very best Narnian greeting. "Surely it is something terrible?"

The Faun's eyes were red-rimmed. "Indeed, we've had dreadful news from Cair Paravel."

_Morgan? Had something… no, that couldn't be it._

Tumnus squeezed her hands. "Constance, it is with deep sorrow that I tell you of the passing of Lady Jina to Aslan's Country."

A dozen different things passed through Constance's head in an instant.

_Jina?_

Jina was the dog. _Not dog._ _Hound._ _Talking Hound._ _A person._

_Aslan? _

The Narnian lion.

_Aslan's Country? Where's that?_

_Oh._

_Jina is dead._

And then, _five gods, I hope Maeve keeps her mouth shut because she will get this all wrong._

Constance returned the squeeze of Tumnus' hands and then released them so he could fumble for a handkerchief to dab his eyes.

"Tumnus, I am so very, very sorry for Narnia's loss."

_Should I say something about Aslan's country? How did Narnians view a death of a Hound in the prime of her life? What if I get the expression wrong?_

Constance remembered well the morning when Jina had kindly and silently kept her company whilst she had prepared for a drubbing at the hands of Morgan and Maeve during Gertrude Meryl's ladies' luncheon and banking case study. Jina has sensed Constance's deep unease and been a true comfort at a very difficult time, all without saying a single word.

With deep regret and sincere feeling, Constance was able to say, "Jina was a compassionate, loyal, and sensitive Hound and I counted her a true Friend."

"She saved my life, and Morgan's," Pierce said in a thick voice. "She saved our House."

"And mine." Maeve said, fortunately following the example the rest of them had set.

"Jina was one of the greatest lights I have ever known," Director Linch said. He was bent over his hands, staring at the floor. "The world is darker without her in it."

"What happened?" Maeve asked, pulling a chair over to sit with Pierce. "This was sudden?'

"According to the message from the Queen Lucy we received this morning, she died of snake bite in the Glasswater," Peridan said.

Tumnus blew out a harsh breath and stamped a hoof, giving off an air of disagreement and impatience.

"That's what the Queen wrote, Tumnus!" Peridan countered.

"I know, Peridan! It was addressed to me, after all. It makes no sense. We've never had venomous snakes in Narnia!"

To forestall the argument that always occurred when Peridan and Tumnus were in the same room, Constance put in, "Is there any comfort Meryl may offer?"

"As you have heard already, the Canines keen to mark the passing," Tumnus said. "At dawn we will celebrate Jina's life and her final journey to Aslan's paws."

_Aslan's paws. _

Constance glanced at Maeve but the woman managed to keep a serious, concerned look on her face. Playing the Narnian role sometimes stretched even Constance's acting abilities.

"Alan and I will both certainly attend," Constance said. Alan excelled at this sort of thing.

Pierce nodded and Maeve took his hand. "We will be there, of course."

Director Linch pulled his head up. "Tumnus, Peridan? What of my daughter? I know that messages that come by Albatross pairs must be brief. But did the Queen Lucy write of Morgan?"

"Banker Morgan was not with Jina when she died," Tumnus put in hurriedly. "We would have informed you immediately if any harm had befallen her."

"Thank you, but I did assume as much," Director Linch said with asperity. "I ask because I am concerned that my daughter has lost a very dear friend in Jina."

"She and Jina were _very_ close," Pierce said, sounding worried as well. "Is there any word of how she is?"

"Queen Lucy wrote that Banker Morgan is grieving, as would be expected for one who lost a loved one," Peridan said.

Constance felt an odd prickle of foreboding. _Why were Peridan and Tunmus both being so evasive? _

Pierce let out a relieved sigh. "As least she is with King Edmund and her Narnian friends."

The pause was just a shade too long as Faun and Man silently negotiated who would speak.

"What is it then?" Director Linch demanded.

Tumnus cleared his throat. "Queen Lucy wrote that immediately after Jina's farewell, Banker Morgan quit Cair Paravel and is on a ship bound for Narrowhaven."

ooOOoo

There was a lot of shouting after that.

Constance excused herself, feeling discouraged and nursing a pounding headache. She left Maeve with Pierce and Director Linch to grill Tumnus on which ship and when and where and what it all meant – and wasn't that last obvious?

Morgan was coming back. At the first crisis, she'd abandoned King Edmund, Narnia, and everything and everyone, and just _fled_. It was all so pathetically and predictably Morgan. Why couldn't Morgan do what she was supposed to do? _Just once_? _Why was she always so contrary? Why did everything always have to rearrange to suit Morgan? Why was she incapable of letting the sleeping dog lie?_

The keening of the Canines was echoing off the walls of the Banking Houses. It was wrenching and morbidly reflected her own state. She knew she should go back to Stanleh but just could not bear its oppressive atmosphere.

Constance went home. She let herself into Meryl House and shrugged off the queries from the staff who took her Banker's robe at the door.

"I'll be in my office."

With the change in circumstance to Acting Director of Stanleh, Gertrude had finally been shamed into giving Constance a nice office. The thick Meryl blue carpets and tapestries deadened the murmurs of the staff and the wailing of the Narnians. Leaning back in the plush, velvet couch, putting her feet up on the pearl inlay table, and downing a glass of good Archen wine eased the tension but increased the headache. She wasn't sure how long she stared at the lengthening shadows on the walls before she heard the soft, distinctive knock at her door.

"Come in, Alan!"

Her eyes, heart, and mood lifted with his mere presence. Alan had that effect upon people. He was beautiful, from without and within, a kind heart, discernment, and all that Banker poise and polish and none of the pudgy or piggish. He was that incongruous thing - a generous Banker.

Alan took one look at her and just said simply, "Oh Constance," sat down next to her on the couch, and put his arms around her.

"It's all ruined," she said into his broad shoulder, choking so it was almost a sob. Constance had to fumble for a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, for she did not want soil Alan's lovely, soft blue shirt.

"So dramatic, dearest? This isn't like you. Where's my better half?" He took the wine glass out of her hand and put it aside on the iridescent table.

"Your other half is tired, Alan, tired of trying to do all this and for what? For Morgan to come back and take it all away, take you away, take our House away…"

"That won't happen." Alan kissed the top of her head.

She let out a disgusted sigh. "Will you try to tell me that your mother has not already dusted off the contracts and is preparing the announcements to hand you and everything else over to Morgan as soon as she gets off the boat?"

"I'll handle Mother."

He did not deny it, however. Of course Gertrude was ecstatic at the news.

"But Morgan will…"

"I will handle Morgan, as well."

"But…"

Alan buried his fingers into her shoulders and massaged them, up her neck, down her back. "You all are so very clever, but I know Morgan very well. You do what you excel at, Constance, and leave to me what I excel at. This is a temporary delay, only, and I'm really the only one to manage it."

"It just all seems so…" Constance nearly sobbed. She was worn with the care of trying to win their happiness and their House, together. It had all been going so well…

"You stay here tonight; don't go back to Stanleh. We'll have a quiet evening, just the two of us. No work, no visitors, alright? We have an early morning tomorrow for Jina's memorial."

She nodded and wished she could believe Alan's promises.

"There's my better half!" Alan said cheerfully. "Now, I must go scold Mother, then I need to go over the Governor's House. And Lord Peridan is here to see you."

"Peridan! Why? Why now?"

"I don't know. He was very mysterious."

Constance pulled herself up out of Alan's embrace. "Do I look a ruin?"

Alan helped her out of the couch and looked her over. He, of course, was perfect and she'd not splotched up his shirt at all, or even wrinkled it. She let him pull one of her sleeves up and the other down to even them up, and tucked her loose hairs back into their pins.

"May I?"

She nodded and he used a handkerchief to neaten the kohl lines around her eyes and pinked up her cheeks with a light pinch.

"Much better," he said and kissed her lightly on the top of the head so as not to muss what he had just perfected. "I am certain that Peridan is thirsty at this hour so give him a drink or three. He would not be seeking you out idly." Alan paused and frowned thoughtfully. "Though, do you think I should stay?"

"I can handle Peridan," Constance replied. She straightened the wine bottles and set out a clean glass. Glancing about, she didn't see anything in her office that he might casually make off with. The man was excruciatingly clever and absolutely incorrigible. "As for paying our respects to the grieving Narnians, I don't recall any particular mourning rite. I know they are calling this thing tomorrow a _Farewell_. I imagine the ritual varies?"

Alan nodded. "So Tumnus said. If there's something we should do apart from appearing supportive and attending the Farewell, I'll find out."

Now, Alan stood before her and she adjusted his robe so it rested straight across his shoulders. He brushed fingers across her cheek and said, "With everyone so distracted, I think today also would be a good time for me to blunder into the records room at the Governor's House and introduce myself to the Narnian archivist."

Alan never acted without a purpose and Bankers always made the mistake of assuming that because he was poor with numbers, he wasn't good at anything else. Bankers could be so astoundingly _blind_ to anything but their ledgers. "Why the interest?" she asked.

"I've been meaning to do it but now it's taken on urgency with Morgan coming back. Tumnus has boasted repeatedly that King Edmund wrote most of the Narnian laws and he _was_ behind those excruciating courtship contracts we started seeing a few years ago. I think …" Alan tapped a finger to his lips – for her alone Alan would let a thoughtful expression show on his face. "In them I think there's something to be learned of him and of Narnia's plans for the future. Whether Morgan is here or there, we need to understand Edmund the King, not only Harold the Clerk."

They both took identical, steadying breaths, preparing to present Meryl to the rest of the world – a veneer of geniality and understanding masking a deep wellspring of cunning.

"Don't worry," Alan repeated. "It looks like we'll have Morgan for shut-in and Conclave but realistically we needed her approval of the Code and the Stanleh audit. Her presence here will make those ends come faster."

"Perhaps we can suggest that Sterns needs a hard look too?"

Alan quirked his lips into a small, approving smile. "That's an excellent idea. Morgan would love to take Sterns apart. That could easily occupy her through the New Year. I'll suggest it to Tumnus."

They had discovered that Tumnus was a very good administrator and a capable diplomat but the Faun had a very poor head for numbers.

They touched ink-stained fingers and Alan left the room. "Lord Peridan!" she heard Alan say. "Our apologies. Constance and I needed a little time to ourselves to reflect on Jina's tragic passing. I'm sure you understand."

Constance _was_ sad to think that Jina was dead. The Hound had had a noble spirit now mourned by the howling of the Narnian Canines of Narrowhaven. She was not faking her own grief when she held out her hands to greet Lord Peridan.

"My Lord Peridan," Constance said, in a voice full of sympathy. "Again our deepest condolences." Borrowing from what she'd heard Tumnus say, she added, "May the Lion bring you all comfort."

Peridan smirked. He did that a lot around her. "Narnia thanks Meryl for the pretty sentiments."

Constance frowned her disapproval of Peridan's callous flippancy. "Jina spent a whole morning with me one day in advance of the Director's ladies' lunch, which I'm sure I do not need to tell you, is as brutal as any bare-knuckled brawl. Jina was an enormous comfort, a great Lady of Narnia, and all who were blessed to know her, mourn."

Peridan bowed, apparently conceding her point and appearing slightly less mocking.

She gestured to the table. "I have no Narnian drinks, but may I pour you a glass of good Archen wine?"

"Thank you, please. Being Tumnus' errand boy is thirsty work."

Constance kept an eye on him as she poured. She didn't seem him pilfer anything but Peridan really couldn't seem to help himself. He took the chair across from the sofa and Constance made sure the drink and the bottle were in his easy reach.

"You'll be hearing a lot of this so allow me to tutor you." Peridan raised his glass. "To our dead who are home."

She raised her glass to match his. "And my response?"

"You say, 'Until we meet again in Aslan's Country.'"

_Aslan's Country_. She really knew nothing of the belief systems of the Narnians. "Until we meet again in Aslan's Country," she intoned gravely.

"'Do not let our grief keep you from your journey home."

They saluted one another.

"Now, we drink." Peridan quaffed his; Constance took a sip.

Peridan swirled the wine left in his glass and took another, and more appreciative, sip. "Excellent. This is from the Stormness Valley? The white wines from that area always have this excellent mineral finish."

"I believe it is," Constance replied, though she really had no idea and could not be sure if Peridan was making it up as well.

She leaned back in her seat and communicated with an upturned eyebrow her expectation that Peridan had better explain quickly why he was keeping her from important work.

"How might I serve Narnia, Lord Peridan?"

"Narnia asks nothing of you, Director, than what you have already been doing, which you have been doing well."

_A very odd beginning._ "Thank you," she replied with regal nod. "So what then brings you here?"

"If you will indulge me, Director…"

Constance thought she was being very indulgent of Peridan. "If Narnia does not require my service, I shall be glad to indulge you, Peridan." She topped off his glass. "Though I am loyal to Narnia and so will not countenance anything harmful to her."

"But of course!" Peridan exclaimed. "This relates to matters of, we can hope, ultimate benefit to us all including, and most especially, Narnia."

_So Peridan is acting on his own, about something not formally undertaken on Narnia's behalf but that he thinks is of benefit to her?_

"I am at Narnia's disposal and yours."

"As it happens, I have a relation who is the respectable member of the family. He is the very pillar of rectitude and sobriety, a diplomat of the greatest subtlety. He is currently on Galma. He is also a close confidant of King Edmund's."

"How fortunate," she responded, hoping she did not sound too acerbically dry.

Peridan made a point of admiring and drinking his wine, then said, "What brings me here is intelligence I've received from this well-connected relation that concerns Banker Morgan and King Edmund. Tumnus, too, has received additional intelligence from the head housekeeper at Cair Paravel."

Given the sources he was boasting of, the information Peridan was offering was _very_ good. But why would he come to her with it? Constance replied cautiously. "As I said, I was very sorry to learn of Jina's death and anything you might share without me about the tragedy would be enlightening, I am sure."

"Yes, well, apart from the death of a noble Hound, the event has precipitated Morgan's unlooked for return, which I am sure you are sorry for indeed."

Her irritation with the man's evasiveness flared. "Lord Peridan, is there a point you wish to make?"

"Several." His look and manner sharpened, for all that he'd downed two glasses of wine in rapid succession. Peridan seemed to be the rare sort whose acumen improved with liquor. "My contact has told me what your spies in Anvard have told you."

Constance could not fathom how Peridan knew what he did. The Narnians weren't stupid, but they weren't necessarily worldly either. Peridan, on the other hand, was a drunk, a petty thief, a skilled actor, and appallingly knowledgeable.

"Spies?" she scoffed, sounding very offended. "Don't be ridiculous, Peridan. Archenland is the country of my birth and our sovereign's greatest ally."

"I fail to see how either impacts gathering intelligence? We spy on our friends as well as our enemies."

He set his glass down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. It looked very earnest and felt far too familiar. Constance pulled back to maintain the distance between them. She had no idea what game Peridan was playing and would not show her ledger to him regardless. She could lie very well, probably as well as he could, and while he was not malicious, neither was Peridan to be trusted.

"I really can't be bothered with petty gossip of foreign courts when we are so busy doing Narnia's work here," Constance retorted. "Why don't you explain it all for me?"

He awarded her slight, mocking bow. "As the Director requests," Peridan replied, ignoring the fact that this was the reason why he had come in the first place.

"There is what we all know or may be inferred. There was," and he began ticking them off on his fingers, "a deep bond of love between King Edmund and Banker Morgan, and there was a breach earlier this year when he departed Narrowhaven without her that was repaired in Anvard when King Edmund went there intending to court Morgan. Morgan returned to Narnia but now is on her way here after handling a dreadful and shocking loss very poorly. Most worrisome, the indications are that this breach is very serious. King Edmund seems to assume it is a permanent sundering. I think the few Narnians at Cair Paravel who are aware of the situation believe Morgan means to never return."

"A bleak and sad picture," she murmured. _So bleak for them here. So very, very bleak._ Constance's own mood darkened further and she could feel her headache returning with renewed, pounding vigor.

"Indeed," Peridan said. "There are, however, two things which I believe will be useful for you to know, Constance, and that should be shared and acted upon accordingly."

Suddenly she had become _Constance_ but chose to ignore the familiarity. Peridan was offering to be expansive. "And those are?"

"First, Tumnus did not mention that when Jina died, Morgan was actually already at sea, bound for the Lone Islands."

"Oh," she finally said into the welling, depressed silence, feeling utterly deflated. That was news she had not wanted to hear and if possible, Constance's mood sank even further. It _was_ all for nothing, then.

Peridan held up a hand. "There is more. Morgan had put to sea yet Queen Lucy wrote she attended Jina's farewell at dawn and lit the pyre. This means Morgan was somehow transported back to Narnia, over the sea. I can only think of one way that would have been accomplished."

The stress and annoyance finally got the better of her. "That's ridiculous," Constance snapped. "What did she do? Fly?"

"Probably, yes," Peridan said. "You saw the General of Narnia and her Gryphon wing drop three Satyrs into Conclave."

She would never forget the sight of three armed and bristling Satyrs launch through the open window and roll into the tower of the Counting House. A miscalculation and they would have fallen to their deaths, dashed on the rocks far, far below. "Morgan?! Flew?! I can't believe it! It's preposterous!"

"Yet it must have been done." Peridan shook his head in seeming awe. "It is very remarkable if the Gryphons of Narnia consented to fly a Human, a non-Narnian, over the sea."

Constance thought Peridan was imparting something important other than the extraordinary possibility that Morgan flew by Gryphon over the Eastern Sea but she did not understand the Narnians well enough to discern his meaning. "They wouldn't normally do that?"

"No!" Peridan cried. "Of course not! Gryphons are not dumb horses! This is very rare and, for a non-Narnian, unprecedented as far as I know."

"Fine," she snapped. Failing to divine Peridan's opaqueness was making her even more irritable. "So the Gryphons conferred an honour upon Morgan by flying her so she could be present for Jina's farewell. But she was leaving Narnia regardless, so why does the manner of her leaving matter? What of it?"

"As to my second point…" Inexplicably, he began humming in a rhythm painful to her throbbing head.

"Peridan, if you are going to break into drunken song you can leave right now!"

"Do you recognize the tune?"

"I think so," Constance temporized, not certain what answer Peridan was expecting this time.

"It's a new Narnian song, called _The_ _Lion and the Baker_." He paused, assuring her had her attention, then slowly continued. "It tells of the Baker coming down from the Archenland mountain pass to Narnia. She hands out golden biscuits to the woodland creatures and marvels at Aslan's tail."

Constance gasped, utterly shocked, as she now understood what Peridan was saying. "It's about Morgan? And _Aslan_?"

"It is. With all the Narnians of the Meadowlawn in attendance, the King Edmund presented Morgan of Linch to the Lion of Narnia. As the song relates, Aslan kissed the Baker, told jokes, spoke long with her privately, and thanked her for her service to Narnia. The party lasted two days."

"But he's…" Constance reached for her wine glass and, with a shaking hand, drained it. Aslan was a god, wasn't he?

"Precisely." Peridan filled in her stupefied blank.

"And she remarks on his _tail_?!" Constance thought she might compete with Peridan for the remains of the bottle. She couldn't even comprehend that the god of Narnia was really a lion. And… _Morgan?_

"Well, given Morgan, that part of the song certainly gives the story an air of verisimilitude, don't you think?"

Constance managed to nod weakly. _Morgan, you are such an idiot._

"My point, Banker of Meryl, is that this was no passing fancy. The Lion _approved_ of Morgan and gave his blessing to the bonding of one of his chosen Four to Morgan of Linch."

And the magnitude of what Morgan had done became horrifyingly apparent. "So, when she set out the first time to return to Narrowhaven, it was not to be permanent," Constance said, now following Peridan's reasoning. "Morgan was going to return and be bonded with King Edmund."

"Yes, I believe that's the best conclusion given the other circumstances present. I think she intended to conclude her commitments here, renege her commitment to Meryl, renounce her claim to Linch, and return to Narnia permanently. The Gryphons consented to fly her because she was assumed to be King Edmund's consort, or perhaps significant enough in Narnia in her own right to merit the honour. The abrupt manner of departure indicates this has all changed, unfortunately."

_So unfortunate_. _Now what?_

She stared at Peridan and finally just shook her head, overwhelmed at the news and appalled at Morgan's apparent defection. King Edmund would be humiliated, embarrassed, and furious. And Aslan? She could imagine what a vengeful god might do to remedy the insult. If anything, this was worse than before.

She threw herself back into the couch, not bothering to hide her disgust. "I did not think this day or my mood could turn any blacker."

"Take heart, Constance of Meryl. I would not be disclosing all this salacious, though very well founded, gossip if there was no purpose other than to sadden or to impress with my superb intelligence."

"Yes, Peridan, why all this interest and indiscreet glibness? What's in it for you?"

"I am romantic at heart?" At her guffaw, Peridan cried, "Truly! No need for the poisonous looks, Director!"

"I would settle for the truth, Peridan, not that I think you are capable of stating it."

"You wound me, Constance."

"I think you will recover."

"According to my relation, King Edmund genuinely loves Morgan but will be an idiot about it and really who could blame him? The man is King and went to Archenland to woo her. Morgan, likewise, already has been an idiot about it."

Peridan sighed and for a moment, the genial mask slipped. Constance made note of the expression – she thought this countenance was Peridan being as honest as he was capable of. "You will call me a fool, but I am Narnian, at least by adoption. We all, Narnian and Bankers, want a stable succession and Morgan and King Edmund are the best hope for that since the Four were crowned. That Aslan gave his blessing, well, that's important to me, too. It's important to all of us."

_Us. The Narnians._ "You _do_ sound appallingly romantic, Peridan."

"I would ask you to keep that in confidence lest it impair my reputation as the drunken town clown of Narrowhaven and the thorn in Tumnus' furry side," he replied with a smile. "And now my reasons for coming to you are, as a Banker would say, on the table. King Edmund won't chase Morgan here, not for a second time. Which means that to move this forward, we need to push Morgan back to Cair Paravel. If you succeed in that, I am convinced love and the Lion's will shall win out."

"Romantic _and_ unexpectedly devout," Constance added.

There was a strange twitch in his mobile face and a wisp of a smile. "Discerning the Lion's paw and purposes can be challenging, to be sure, though I believe I do it here. He is a Lion after all, not a human, and surely we confound him sometimes with our most human foibles."

This was more than unexpected devotion to the lion god. Peridan seemed to have a… personal relationship? With _Aslan?_

Beating her to it, Peridan poured the rest of the bottle into his glass and drank it dry. "Our interests are aligned, Banker of Meryl." He sprang to his feet, completely steady. "Get Morgan back to Narnia. _That_ is the task I commend to the formidable attention and considerable talents of you and your colleagues."

ooOOoo

Over a year ago, Pierce had stood at this same dock, waiting, just as he did now, for his sister's return from Narnia. Like today, that afternoon had been cold and damp; the chill wind whipped the flags run up on the poles. Ships sails fluffed in the breeze and a chill spray blew off the water.

That day, Morgan had come ashore with a new Dog who was not just a dog, and an Archen clerk who was not from Archenland and no clerk. Something new began to take hold the moment she came ashore.

Though, with the benefit of hindsight, he supposed it really had started before she left, the day Morgan had burst into his office to share that first Narnia contract. Oh it had been a little rough around the edges but, in substance, the document was as clever and subtle as the very best work of their own House, or even Stanleh. More work product had followed steadily. And so began Morgan's endless speculation as to the mind behind these works and words; she gnawed it, worried it, like a dumb dog with a bone.

During a meeting when his sister would just not leave off, it had been Constance who had finally presented the solution. "Well, Morgan, why don't you just go to Narnia and find out for yourself who is drafting these fine contracts?"

_And give us all some peace_ had been implied but not stated. Morgan had missed that point but did catch the next ship bound for Narnia.

That summer, he had traveled with Maeve to Zalindreh to clean up the mess Morgan and the Stanleh Director had created. It brought them together, thereby creating a whole other mess, for things like love did not maximize returns on House investment.

Pierce pulled his heavy Linch-green cloak closer, feeling how it rubbed at his senior Assistant Director shoulder knot in a way that he never used to notice. He had been locked in the Bankers' world, destined to measure happiness in the coin that filled coffers at year end.

Every day since Morgan went to Narnia had been a surprise. Eventually, as slowly as the ice melts in a thaw or a large ship manoeuvres a change of course, he had found what no Banker had ever thought he or she could ever have – freedom, love, humane work, and a life that was rich and fulfilling in ways not recorded in ledgers.

He had never thought he and Maeve would be able to recapture their time together in Zalindreh. It would never have been permitted under the old way of doing things. They would be paired off with others who would bring wealth and prestige to their Houses, and ordered to build portfolios and raise their families in the same workhouse warrens in which they had been reared, just as it had always been.

Now, he was waking up every day with Maeve beside him, Rats at his supper table, and Crows in the Counting House. A Bankers' world remade awaited him, with added animal hair, and feathers in everything.

His sister had begun it and now there was no stopping it. He owed her so much.

The dock was crowded with Narnians and Linch retainers. Pierce didn't bother to brush off the Cat hair from his green robes. Father had even left his office to welcome Morgan back; there were black feathers on his father's shoulders.

In the harbour, they could see the trading ship, flying Linch colours.

"There," Father said.

They watched as strong hands and arms carefully lowered Morgan into the dingy. Pierce held his breath – more than once, Morgan's awkwardness had capsized rowboats, though she was a decent swimmer.

"She's much less awkward than she used to be," Father said. "However…"

He trailed off with a worried frown as Morgan carefully sat in the boat. The dingy lurched a little but stayed afloat and the crew began rowing her to the dock.

A Wing of Crows flew in circles around the boat, cawing greetings to Banker Morgan. Pierce had heard from several Narnians that the Crows claimed Morgan as one of their own and had, with the Hounds, given her their badge to wear. Morgan stayed hunched over on her seat but did finally pull her head up and give them a jerky wave.

Pierce waved in earnest. "Morgan! Welcome back!"

A Centaur, two large Cats, a pack of wagging Dogs, that very strange being called a Marsh-wiggle, and other Narnians eagerly surged to the edge of the dock; they were all calling. waving, and cheerfully welcoming Morgan.

He knew Morgan was popular with the Narnians but even so their expressive joy surprised him.

When the rowboat crew threw a mooring line, it was Narnians who caught it and pulled the boat to the dock.

"She _is_ my daughter," Father said, good-naturedly pushing the Narnians aside so that the two of them could reach down to help her ashore once the Narnians had lashed the rowboat to the pier.

Morgan raised her arms to them and he and his father grasped his sister's hands to bring her up to the pier. Pierce was so startled he almost let go. Morgan's hands were cold and clammy; she was so light that together he and his father easily lifted her straight out of the boat and on to the dock.

"Pierce!" Morgan cried and threw her arms around his neck. Pierce hugged her warmly and didn't like what he felt. The Morgan who came off the ship from Narnia the last time had been bursting with happiness and health.

"I am so glad to see you again, Morgan," Pierce said, wishing he could impart to her the gratitude he felt, and with it, some warmth.

She sniffed into his shoulder and nodded. "I missed you so much."

Morgan was a wan, thin shade of her old self. It was as if all the benefits and virtues of the last two years had leached away. Morgan had regressed and now looked as she had when they'd been growing up, when she subsisted on a diet of coffee and stress and would work until she fell asleep over her ledgers and he would help her to bed, night after night. She was desperately unhappy.

Pierce let her go and she went from his embrace to Father's. Stepping back to see her wrapped in their father's arms, he was startled at just how much Morgan had shrunk. He couldn't hear what she and Father were saying for the Narnians were still cheering. Then, a song welled up around them,

_Aslan kissed her and told a joke  
The Lion and the Baker spoke  
He shook his mane  
And waved his tail!  
Dance! Sing! Drink! Feast!_

Pierce had heard the humming before and Peridan had told him the Narnians had composed songs in Morgan's honour. Still, actually hearing a song mewled, roared, shouted, and chirped for his sister was moving.

Morgan, however, shrank further. She recoiled and hid under Father's arm. Tumnus trotted forward; Teddy and Keme were there, too, eager to introduce their newest family of four Rat pups.

"Banker Morgan!" Teddy cried. "It is so good to see you again!"

"Welcome back!" Tumnus said. He was brandishing a string-tied parcel of paper. "Several messages from Cair Paravel arrived by Bird for you…"

Morgan stumbled against Father and put her hands out. "No. I'm not…" She burst into tears.

Tumnus took an uncertain step backwards, looking embarrassed and worried. Father threw his own cloak over Morgan's shoulders and gave him a quick, hard look. Pierce nodded.

"I'll take the messages, Tumnus," Pierce said, as Father led Morgan off the dock.

"I am so sorry," Tumnus said, looking utterly deflated. "I thought she would wish to hear from those who miss her? Everyone was so looking forward to seeing Morgan and hearing her news and the stories behind the songs!"

Pierce tucked the messages under his arm and shook his head. "Not now, Tumnus. Would you please give our regrets to the Narnians for the time being?"

"Of course." Tumnus would know what to say and how to best express it.

He felt a paw tug on his trouser leg. "Pierce?"

"I'm sorry, Teddy," Pierce replied, crouching down to speak to the Rat. Keme was leading the Pups away, who appeared even more dejected than Tumnus did. The Canines who had been so eagerly awaiting Morgan were in a huddle, heads and tails down, muttering amongst themselves.

He and Teddy watched as Father supported Morgan through the throng of the Narrowhaven High Street until they disappeared into the crowd.

"She's so sad," Teddy said.

"Yes," Pierce replied. "Morgan has probably gone the whole way from Narnia feeling like that." Alone, crying in her berth, not eating or sleeping or talking to anyone.

"Morgan has never had anyone she loved go to Aslan before, has she?" Teddy absently scratched his fur but his eyes were full of keen intelligence and sympathy.

Perceptive moments like this forcefully reminded Pierce that Narnians were no more regular dumb animals than they were little people in hair and feathered costumes.

"No, not like this, at least," he told the Rat.

With Morgan's return, the formerly jubilant Narnians were now dispirited. The song sputtered and died. The Crows, who had been flying about Morgan, came back and settled on the flag poles, glum and silent.

Teddy sighed. "I'll ask around and see if any among the Narnians here are especially gifted with grief work. You should do the same. She needs to talk to someone who understands"

"Thank you, Teddy. I suspect you are right." Black feathers floated down from where the Crows roosted overhead; Pierce dusted two off his sleeve and but could still feel feathers in his hair.

Pierce followed his father and sister up the Silver Stair back to Linch House. Morgan had fled Narnia, but Pierce didn't think she fit in Narrowhaven anymore, either.

ooOOoo

Next chapter is Consideration and Acceptance

ooOOoo

And so begins the final chapters and concluding arc, Year 4 of _Harold and Morgan: Not A Romance_.

My apologies for the long delay. Thanks so much to those of you who have followed the story and nudged me for updates. I really appreciate it so much and hope you will share your thoughts on this admittedly slow moving chapter filled with OCs. Given where I left the last chapter, I needed to do a bit of tedious exposition and explain what all has been going on in the Lone Islands in the months that Morgan has been away. The next chapter should follow in a week or two. In the meantime, do check out the Narnian Fic Exchange on Live Journal. There are wonderful stories there and there is also a madness round where anyone can write anything of any length in response to the prompts that were posted.

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.


	22. Consideration and Acceptance

**Harold and Morgan: Not a Romance**  
**Chapter 22, Consideration and Acceptance**

_The elements of a contract are "offer" and "acceptance" by "competent persons" having legal capacity who exchange "consideration" to create "mutuality of obligation."  
_Wiki entry defining "Contract"

* * *

It took Pierce less than a day to wish that his sister, whom he loved and respected very much, had not come home. Three years ago, Morgan had been tense, intense, awkward, unrelenting, and even obnoxious. Her changes had been slow and beautiful. He had seen his sister grow in confidence, holding all her acumen in place while softening her harsh and unforgiving edges. She had become more balanced and flexible. The causes were many – some combination of Jina's support and friendship, the regard the other Narnians had for her, and King Edmund's – well, having experienced it now himself, Pierce called it love - he had no idea what Morgan and King Edmund would call it.

Now, it was as if all that goodness had been erased and Morgan's interpersonal timepiece had been turned backward.

In fact, she was worse than before.

By the second morning, Morgan reduced the cooks to tears over the coffee. She and Father had argued into the noon bell, three days running, when he told her that he was not going to take away the old accounts of hers that he had given to their two new ADs, Chase and Wells. Morgan was to train, not steal, a distinction she didn't grasp. In a moment of impatient and immature, though very profound, insight, Morgan stomped and shouted, "I don't like to share _my_ things!"

Morgan hadn't said anything about Maeve at all, which really wasn't polite at this point. His sister didn't have to be best colleagues with his betrothed, but Maeve had tried and Morgan had just ignored her and Constance as well.

Pierce did his part. He explained to Morgan that a lot had happened in her time away in Narnia and Calormen, that the changes were so much for the better, and how grateful they all were to her for bringing a more humane sensibility to their Bankers' ways. The mere mention of anything occurring on the mainland drew tears to her eyes and she would run off, blowing her nose. Or she would yell at him that everything was fine, he should mind his own business, why didn't he just leave her alone, and how many times did she have to ask before he fetched her the Seven Isles guild accounts, the ledgers for the Archenland municipalities, and the latest Code revisions?

He was realizing that it was not just Jina's death – something else had happened between Morgan and King Edmund but Morgan was stonily silent on the subject. The letters from the Narnians sat on her desk, unread. Because he knew the handwriting well from Shut In and Conclave last year, Pierce also knew that a letter penned by King Edmund was not among the letters she had received.

"I'll handle it," Alan said calmly to the three of them during a whispered conference after another episode of Morgan's' bewildering, fawning over Alan. She had never tried to flirt, if flirting it could be called, with Alan before and it was unsettling and awkward.

"It's obvious what is going on," Constance said. "Just follow our lead," and Maeve had nodded. Pierce was grateful the others were so patient and understanding. He was alternately frustrated and furious.

The ones who really might have helped, Morgan refused to see. Tumnus had visited twice and been rebuffed. The Crows still roosted outside Linch House but Morgan never offered them her arm or shoulder and turned her face from them if they tried following her on the street. She ignored Keme and Teddy – a feat requiring real effort since they were living under the same roof. The Rats were truly kinder than Morgan's behavior deserved.

"I should have liked to hear more about meeting Aslan," Teddy said sadly. "I've never seen the Lion before."

Pierce had been wondering himself about the significance of this meeting given how the Narnians spoke of it in awed tones.

Keme gnawed the back of Teddy's neck affectionately and said, "Banker Morgan is hurting. She misses Jina and King Edmund. It will get better."

Pierce wished he could be as sanguine. He ached for his sister's obvious pain; what sympathy he mustered evaporated as Morgan refused any assistance. It had taken a mere ten-day for Morgan to throw their very pleasant, productive lives into a Tash's hell.

He'd gotten into the habit of celebrating week's end with Maeve, Constance, and Alan. They would make a night of it at a club Stanleh had run in the old days. By unspoken accord, they all enjoyed it for the food, which was more southern in style than northern, and so not very popular with the Narnians. They would get a private room, drink a lot of Southern wines, eat olives and dates, bread, and spicy ground lamb _kifteh_, talk about the Code revisions and marriage plans and their futures, and quietly carp about the Narnians' lack of computational and business skills.

With Mariol Sterns seeing the changing winds, she would sometimes join them and bring her adolescent son and daughter who were under orders to listen to everything and only speak when they could ask intelligent questions. Dara Sterns would often tag along, always looking a little miffed. Maeve was polite to Dara, confident that she had no rival for his affection; it always helped when Pierce repeated that Maeve was at least 3.7 times more attractive than Dara.

After an especially tumultuous day with Morgan, Pierce was desperately anxious for a night away. He hung up his robe, left Linch House, trudged down to Lower Town to the club, and was escorted into their private back room. It was an unpleasant surprise to find Morgan there, sitting between Constance and Alan.

Warily, Pierce took a seat next to Maeve, preparing himself for his sister's inevitably rude behavior. Maeve, in contrast, was gracious and did not seem troubled. She hugged him and he deliberately made a show of kissing her cheek and ignored Morgan's audible grumbling.

He could not imagine what Alan and Constance had done to pry Morgan from the Code revisions at Stanleh and sincerely wished they had not bothered. She'd not come up for air except to berate everyone around her as stupid, corrupt, or encroaching upon _her_ things.

On the table, there were plates of kifteh, bread, the last of the summer tomatoes, a fragrant spread made of platlishan (the Narnians called it _aubergine_ which didn't sound like a word at all), and two bottles of wine. There was also a very large ewer of ale which was probably for Morgan alone as she didn't drink wine.

"So, Morgan," Alan began, sliding a half-filled cup of ale to her. "Is it more like a fog or is it as if you are wrapped in a wet blanket all the time?"

"What?" Morgan replied, leaning forward to carefully take the cup in both hands.

"Since you left Cair Paravel," Constance said, following Alan's line of peculiar questioning with no difficulty.

_A coordinated plan, then_. Pierce leaned back in his seat, took the glass of wine Maeve handed him, and would watch it unfold.

"I don't understand," Morgan said. She stared down at the table and took a very large slurp of her drink.

"I ask because after father and Ralegh died, I was in a fog for months," Alan said.

Ralegh had been Alan's older brother; he and his father had died of a fever contracted in Anvard five years ago.

"It was more like the wet blanket for me," Maeve said. "I felt as if I was suffocating. I know that Seth was there with me through it all, and Grandfather, but, honestly, I don't remember much of anything. I didn't crawl out from under it for a year."

Pierce reached under the table and squeezed her hand. Maeve's parents had gone down with their ship in the Eastern Sea when an early bora had blown up some twelve years ago.

Morgan looked up from her cup of ale and blinked, as if finally hearing what others were saying. "I thought… I mean, I didn't… I forgot you…"

"We understand, Morgan," Constance said and there were tears in her eyes. Pierce wondered who Constance had lost to be so sympathetic as well. "You aren't alone in this, even if it feels that way."

"But I'm just such a…" Morgan trailed off. She squirmed in her seat and finally took another gulp of her ale. Constance poured more into her cup from the ewer on the table.

"You don't owe anyone an explanation or an apology for grieving as you do," Alan said firmly. "Every person does it differently and in his own time and everyone else can wait until you work through it. It does help if you admit you _are_ grieving, though."

"This isn't like a sum in a ledger with a right answer," Maeve added. "That's hard for people like us, but Alan's right. You feel what you feel, you do what is right for you, and, sometimes, just getting up in the morning is the best you can do."

"Jina would be so very cross with me," Morgan sniffed. "She'd be angry I'm so miserable all the time."

"I didn't know her that well since _Pierce_ neglected to mention you had Talking Narnians at Linch House last year." Maeve poked him in the side but had long since forgiven him for the necessary omissions. "I'm embarrassed now to think of the number of times I told her she was a _good dog_."

"She took it all in good humour," Pierce said, soothing the mild pique even if he had been excused and forgiven. "I used to play a guessing game with her. Jina could always tell me what I'd eaten for breakfast."

The laughter was a little tentative. Pierce could see the others were gauging their reaction based upon what Morgan did. But his sister was laughing too, undoubtedly remembering his continual consternation at Jina's blunt and sometimes very _personal_ announcements. While he would gladly give up a modicum of dignity to see his sister happy again, he did hope that Morgan didn't blurt out anything too embarrassing.

"She was such a sensitive and compassionate Hound," Constance said. "Would she really scold you, Morgan?"

Morgan snorted and rolled her eyes. "All the time. In Anvard, when Harold came, I was trying to avoid him because I didn't want to invest in anything that eats. Jina wouldn't help me hide, _at all._"

A person would have to be blind to see the pain in Morgan's countenance when she spoke of King Edmund and Jina; fortunately, none of them was. The night stretched out, long, late, and loud. Alan and Constance kept Morgan's cup half-filled. They all coaxed stories about Jina from Morgan as she rambled, wept, and laughed, sometimes all at the same time.

They left a very large additional gratuity to the club owner for letting them stay well past closing time. As they staggered home, Morgan, weaving and bobbing, broke into a lusty, foul song about moose mating.

Pierce, none too sober himself, thought he wanted to go back to Stanleh with Maeve but she was having none of it.

"Come tomorrow morning," Maeve said, giving him a quick kiss. "See to Morgan. Get her to bed."

His sister was propped up against the wall on the stoop Linch House, still singing, _I've had lots of lovers, my life has been loose, But I've never had anything quite like a moose._ Constance and Maeve were sniggering; Alan opened the door for them.

"Do you need help?" Alan asked, sounding far too sober.

"I've been putting Morgan to bed for years," Pierce replied, putting one arm around Morgan's waist to steady her. Constance arranged Morgan's arm around his shoulders.

Alan gave them a gentle push. They wove and stumbled down the hallway of the House and he heard the door close behind them. Morgan continued to hum as they pitched up the stair, _never had anything quite like a moose. _He'd had no idea his sister could be so bawdy and supposed it was the Narnian influence.

The door to Morgan's bedroom was already ajar and a lamp lit, which meant someone had known they were coming. Perhaps Father had stayed awake for them.

Morgan stumbled into her room and fell straight into her bed with a heavy _thwump._ She held up her feet and Pierce removed her shoes and tossed them aside.

"It's nicer when Harold does that," Morgan mumbled.

"Undoubtedly." Pierce flopped into the nearest chair. It had been over two years since he had escorted his sister to her bed in the late hours of the night after too many hours poring over accounting records. He'd not missed the routine and had been glad to cede the duty to King Edmund.

"He's not father, brother or Peter," Morgan said.

"No, and that's nicer for you, too."

"'cept I don't deserve nice things," Morgan said into her pillow with a muffled sniff.

"You deserve nice things just as the rest of us do, Morgan," Pierce replied. "You certainly work harder for them than anyone else."

"I lose 'em. Lose 'em all. 'don't deserve 'em."

Pierce wondered if Morgan had dared to utter this very vulnerable, and familiar, refrain to King Edmund. "Don't be so cruel to yourself, Morgan."

"All my fault. I'm an idiot. It's why I don't deserve nice things. If I did, Aslan wouldn't take 'em away."

"That's not what I hear in the songs and stories that Narnians tell of you. I don't know Aslan from Zardeenah, but he didn't make a mistake in you, and neither did the Narnians or King Edmund."

"I miss Jina," Morgan sniffed, sounding like a person did who had cried everything there was to be cried. "She knew how to fix me. I'm broken again. More brokener…"

His automatic reply in the past to this common complaint of hers had always been, "_There is nothing in you that needs fixing,_" but as often as he said it, Morgan never believed it. "I know you miss her, Morgan," he answered instead. "It's as the others said tonight. It gets easier, eventually, and you just have to do it in your own time. Try to let those who love you help you."

Pierce had thought it was an excellent, supportive speech given how drunk he was. The recipient of his wisdom was drunker and asleep by the time he got it out.

ooOOoo

At some point, Pierce woke up in Morgan's chair, mostly sober, fought the inertia he knew he would regret, and went to his own room. He bumbled around, found and drank the willow bark infusion he had prepared before he left for the club, and collapsed in his bed. When he woke again at the second bell of the morning, he felt almost normal.

Before _it_ all, before _all_ the changes, the day would have been like every other. He would take breakfast at Linch and review the day's business with Father, who would have been _the Director._ Then, he would have gone to do it, all day, all night, each day as monotonous as the last. Today, however, was another of those luscious, heretofore unknown things, a Narnian import called "the day off."

He wondered what Morgan would make of it and decided he didn't like the probable answer given his sister's current state. Why would she ever want to go back to the way it had been before? Returning to the habits of three years ago wouldn't bring Jina back or repair whatever had happened with King Edmund.

Pierce dressed, did not open a ledger or look at a message, and went straight over to Stanleh. Maybe he was early enough that he could wake Maeve up. Maybe they could get back into bed and stay there until the coffee ran out.

Unfortunately, Maeve was awake, and dressed, and the bed made thereby thwarting his cunning plan of sex and a lazy, rumpled morning.

"Wouldn't you rather have _hot_ coffee?" Maeve said as she firmly shut the door to her – their—bedroom and sat at the table set up in her office with breakfast.

"Surely we can have both?" Pierce asked as he sat next to her at the table. On the positive side of the ledger, the Stanleh cooks did brew excellent coffee.

"All in good time," Maeve replied, which was hopeful enough that he was distracted and so she beat him to the coffee cup. Drawing it away now would mean a burned hand as she poured. "How is Morgan?"

"Still asleep." Pierce reached for his cup but Maeve wouldn't let go.

"She's still hurting," Maeve replied.

"And she's making the rest of us hurt with her," Pierce grumbled, trying to get his coffee cup back. "What you all did was very kind, certainly more generous than what I was feeling yesterday."

"On matters like this, I really trust Alan and Constance," Maeve said. "As usual, they are on the money about it all."

"You are, too, Maeve. It was really good of you to dredge that all up to help Morgan." Pierce took the opportunity to try again to reclaim his cup of coffee but Maeve wasn't going to relinquish it. She reached for the sugar bowl, signaling his battle was likely lost, again.

"We _do_ understand," Maeve said, with a side-eye that had everything to do with saving Pierce from himself and the lure of the sugar. "The year after our parents died is still a blur for me. And Seth…"

She let out the steadying breath while the sugar spoon was poised over his cup, but it was a forlorn hope. Even speaking of her disgraced and murderous brother wouldn't distract Maeve from regulating his sweets consumption. "For all his later, dreadful faults, Seth and I would have never made it through that time without each other. _He was_ good, once."

Pierce covered her busy hands with his. He'd learned to moderate the anger he felt at Seth because it all caused such deep sadness for Maeve. She had lost her parents and then her only brother and as venal as Seth had become, she still cherished the memories of their time together. "He was a good brother to you for a long time. I miss the friend he was, too. Try to take a page from the ledger of last night, Maeve. You don't need to justify to anyone that you miss him."

"It's hard not knowing," Maeve said softly. Seth had been delivered to what passed for Narnian justice and they had heard nothing else in months. Pierce wasn't sure what would be better – knowing that Seth was dead or not knowing if Seth was dead.

"The Narnians don't seem like they would treat a wrongdoer brutally and we could ask Tumnus for more information."

With their hands linked, he tried to ease his coffee away but it was to no more avail than persuading Maeve to return to their bed. "Not so fast, love!" She stirred a woefully tiny spoonful of sugar into his cup. "I won't let you rot your teeth!"

"Kiss to sweeten it then?"

As recompense, breakfast then became a cup of bitter coffee in his hand and Maeve in his lap, which Pierce thought was the promising beginning to a very equitable trade-off.

The knock on the door interrupted the plan, in the short term only. "I do intend to collect, AD Pierce!" Maeve whispered. "Come in!"

He was expecting Constance, one of the Stanleh ADs, or the kitchen staff to remove the breakfast tray. Instead…

"Morgan!" Maeve said, scrambling up from his lap. "Good morning! Do come in. Would you like some coffee?"

Morgan stood in the doorway, a fixed, dour expression on her face. At least she wasn't scowling or rolling her eyes. She looked remarkably well for someone who had been singing about moose sex not all that long ago. Drinking the toxic Narnian liquors as a habit would likely induce tolerance to most poisons.

"Am I needed back at the House?" Pierce asked.

Morgan shook her head. "No. It's…"

She fumbled with a square of paper in her hands. Looked down. Looked up. Looked away. Finally, she pulled her eyes into the space Maeve was standing in. "It's for you. Maeve."

"Oh?"

Morgan held out the paper. "It's from Seth. I … I saw him. I told him I'd give this to you."

Maeve fell heavily back into her chair, her face gone pale. When she didn't move, Pierce stood, stepped forward, and took the letter, still sealed. It was addressed to Maeve and he recognized Seth's strong, clean script.

"I'll just go," Morgan muttered, backing up.

"No!" Maeve cried. "Please, Morgan, stay."

Pierce drew his chair closer to Maeve and sat again.

Maeve stared at the letter he placed in her hands then looked up at Morgan. "You saw him?" Her voice was painfully hopeful.

Morgan nodded.

"So he's… alive?"

Morgan nodded again. "I'm sorry it took so long. For me to give it to you. I just couldn't even open my trunk…"

Her voice thickened and slowed, but Morgan managed to not break down

"Thank you," Pierce said, marveling that his sister would apologize and that she had even been able to, literally, open this very fresh wound for Maeve's sake, a person Morgan had so long despised.

"I understand," Maeve replied. "No apologies are needed. I truly appreciate you coming here, Morgan. I've been so worried about him and feeling guilty for hoping he's still alive."

She ran her fingers over the seal, smiling a little. "He always uses too much wax." She broke the seal and unfolded the letter. She skimmed it first, up and down, then read it more closely. Maeve began to cry a little, tears running down her face she dabbed away with the handkerchief he offered.

"Maeve?" he asked, putting an arm over her shoulders.

"I'm fine. It's… He says he's sorry. He hopes I can forgive him some day." She sniffed again. "And he's sorry he wasn't here when the Director died."

"Morgan, you told Seth about their grandfather dying?" Pierce asked, again surprised at Morgan's generosity.

"Yes. And Seth did ask about you, Maeve. He wanted to know how you were."

Maeve smiled crookedly and looked at the letter again. "Seth says he's sure I'll keep our House from the Meryls." She sniffed and then carefully folded the letter back up and smoothed it in her lap. "Morgan, would you please stay, a little? Could you give me more news about my brother?"

Morgan bit her lip, looking like she was ready to bolt out the door.

"He did write you would be able to explain more than he could write?"

"Well _that_ was good of him," Morgan said, sounding wry, but without the edge of sarcasm she would have once used.

"Please?"

With a deep breath, Morgan carefully sat across from them at the table.

Maeve held up the urn. "Coffee?"

"Thanks, please."

Showing that Maeve was trying too, she poured Morgan only half a cup – a very thoughtful accommodation Pierce didn't think she would have made two years ago. Maeve would have put more sugar in his sister's cup than she would put in his, but Morgan stopped her. "That's fine. Just like that."

They waited while Morgan delayed, making much of drinking her coffee. Pierce could see in the way her eyes were flickering and her mouth moving silently that the words were running through Morgan's mind. Morgan had also probably been rehearsing this and needed to find the right place in her internal monologue before she could speak. Maeve, to her credit, waited patiently. He realized that Maeve undoubtedly knew this habit of Morgan's as well as he did and in the days of their old rivalry probably made a point of interrupting Morgan's running thoughts to embarrass and fluster her.

Given time to prepare herself, Morgan would speak well. So they waited and then Morgan suddenly began, without any preliminaries.

"I saw Seth in Narnia when we returned from Anvard. He was working at a Dwarf clan-hold – the Duffles – the same ones who want that silver mine supply contract Narnia circulated last year. Lucy and I went to the mine to do an audit. It was necessary to assess …"

As much as she was trying to deny it, it was a testament to how profound the change was within Morgan that instead of launching into a long digression about a silver mine audit, she stopped and corrected herself. "So, on our way back, I went to the Duffle hold to discuss the supply agreement with them and Seth was there. I saw him several times."

Maeve looked down again at her letter and smoothed her fingers over the script. "He was able to write, just as he used to." She pulled her head up to stare at Morgan and managed to say, "So he's not…hurt? Or…?"

"Nothing like that," Morgan put in firmly. "He's not been injured in any way, except his pride."

"So it's not like in Calormen?" Maeve asked softly, with a terrified quaver in her voice. "The floggings? Even in Anvard, they would …"

"No!"

Morgan vigorously shook her head. "Narnians don't do that. The Four would never countenance it. They hope for rehabilitation. Harold…"

She looked stricken to have said the name, but swallowed nervously, and pressed on. "King Edmund believes in mercy, even to those who don't deserve it. He really thought it important for you both that Seth apologize to you so I'm glad he did that."

"It's very perceptive of King Edmund to realize how much I did need to hear an apology from my brother." Maeve brushed a tear away with the back of her hand and worried the letter's wax seal between her fingers. "How did he look? You said he was working?"

"Yes, though not what you think, like a work gang or slave labour, or anything like that. He lives in the Duffle hold. There's always a guard but he has his own hut and can join the Dwarfs for meals if he wants. He's doing useful, honest, ordinary things like the rest of them – laundry, weeding the garden, and cleaning the forge."

"Seth would hate that," Maeve said with a frown.

Morgan nodded and shrugged a little. "I won't say he's happy and he's not healed, Maeve. He is still mean and resentful. He said some vile things to me and to King Edmund. But he's alive and looked really, really well. I think that when he gets over his resentment, he'll realize that he's changing, for the better. And I did end up grateful to him, of all things – he was very helpful."

"Grateful? _You?_ To _Seth_?" Maeve leaned forward, listening avidly. "How did _that_ happen?"

His sister smiled a little. "It wasn't just for me, either. I was preparing a report for the High King on the audit of the silver mine. Seth helped me with it. It was a Sterns account," Morgan added, which would be irrelevant to an outsider but explained it all to them.

Pierce snorted in disgust and Maeve rolled her eyes. "How long did it take you to unravel the assumptions?"

They all shared a bemused moment of contempt for Sterns' sloppy practices. "Two days. It was a mess. Seth was invaluable in helping us sort it out and Narnia was very appreciative of his assistance."

Pierce wondered if Morgan could see how eagerly Maeve was clinging to her every word.

"You're_ grateful _and_ appreciative _to him? A criminal? What could that possibly mean, Morgan? What are you saying? Really?" Maeve clutched the precious letter and sounded achingly hopeful.

"King Edmund hopes to see Seth reintroduced, somewhere, somehow."

Maeve sucked in a startled breath. Pierce was shocked.

To that incredible revelation, Morgan added, "Don't get your hopes too high, Maeve. That is the goal but Seth isn't ready yet. In fairness, he might never be. And regardless, what you want matters, too. Maybe you don't want him to return here."

Maeve stared at Morgan a long, incredulous moment, then stared at the letter. She slowly unfolded it, read it again, and then refolded it. Those few paragraphs meant more than gold to Maeve.

"I don't know what I want," Maeve finally admitted. "I appreciate that Narnia recognizes my wishes in this." Pierce managed to not react in shock when Maeve asked, sincerely, "What do you think I should do, Morgan? Should I write to him?"

He could not recall Maeve ever asking for Morgan's opinion on anything.

Morgan fiddled with her cup. They waited until she found the words.

"Maeve, you don't have to do anything. You don't have to write him, you don't have to accept his apology. But by contacting you and apologizing, that's important to him accepting responsibility for how he hurt you. It's important to his healing. And so if you write back and tell him that you appreciate hearing from him, that would show him there was some good in what he did."

Did Morgan realize how her voice grew stronger as she spoke? _She's not just speaking for herself_, Pierce realized. _Morgan speaks on Narnia's behalf and as far more than a Banker. _

Morgan's tone grew even firmer. "But Seth's rehabilitation is _not_ your responsibility, Maeve. He hurt you and King Edmund deals with Seth so you don't have to. Seth is Narnia's responsibility. And his own."

"Not just King Edmund," Maeve observed shrewdly. "You've taken responsibility for this, too."

Morgan stared at her coffee cup and nervously swirled it but not so hard that it sloshed. She drank instead of confirming the obvious answer.

Maeve looked at him and Pierce put his arm on her shoulders. "I want to write to him. I don't know what I'll say, yet, but he's the only close family I have left."

"It is your decision," Pierce told her. "You don't owe him anything but if you want to, it will probably help him." Pierce wasn't sure how he felt about Seth returning to the Islands. He felt more forgiving when there was an ocean separating Maeve from her brother.

"Morgan, can you see that my letter gets to him?" Maeve asked. "I don't think I could…"

Morgan raised her eyes from the dregs of her cup. "Of course. Writing to him is enough. More than enough. We'll take care of the rest. If he writes back, they will send it here directly."

_We. They. Morgan tries to deny it but she speaks with Narnian authority now. _

"Thank you, Morgan, so much for this gift. I'm truly grateful." Maeve reached across the table to squeeze Morgan's hand. His sister didn't recoil, or even flinch.

"There's no need to thank me. I'm just doing the right thing," she muttered, lowering her head. "Being around King Edmund tends to make that happen."

"It was very compassionate, thank you," Pierce said, wishing Morgan would not denigrate what he knew she would not have done two years ago.

Maeve drew back and nestled closer to him, under his arm. "Seth did write that he hoped that Pierce and I are as happy as you and King Edmund are. I'm not sure that's possible, but I hope it's true, Morgan."

ooOOoo

"What odour shall it be tonight, Tumnus? A spritz of Lightning?" Peridan was slurring in his very best imitation of a drunken Satyr. He then effortlessly switched to the heavy accent of a desert tribesman. "Or a bad Southern date wine?"

The man made Tumnus' horns ache. "Choose whatever masking scent is best for the pits you will be crawling through tonight. Though wouldn't the stink of Lightning give you away as too obviously a Narnian spy? And make people wonder where a Calormene acquired it?"

Tumnus could not abide Lightning.

"Right hoo!" Peridan cried. "Bad wine it is!" He executed, without putting a foot wrong, a Calormene-style bow that was undoubtedly appropriate for the lower class merchant of a rough port city that Peridan was disguised as for the evening. "I'll just douse myself on the way out the back door. Wouldn't want the respectable visitors to the Governor's Mansion spotting me."

"Yes, you do that," Tumnus said with a wave.

He restrained the urge to remind Peridan to focus that night on the bars the Avrans of the Lone Islands favoured when in Narrowhaven. Peridan knew his business and that they were still trying to gauge how the working class Islanders felt about Narnia replacing the Bankers as the benevolent ruling agency. There was a lot of anxiety with winter winds soon blowing up and he and Peridan needed to be sure the Lone Islanders knew that Narnia could see to their material needs as well as the Bankers who had so long ruled here.

If there were others besides Narnians about, Tumnus would have shouted, Peridan would have mocked, and there would have been many doors slammed before the man finally swayed and bumbled his way out of the Governor's House.

But only Narnians stayed here and they all could smell, hear, and sense that Peridan was a liar and a spy and their shouting matches usually little more than stage theatrics, even if very and genuinely heated.

"It's amazing what people will tell an oblivious drunk," Peridan always said. The man usually _appeared_ as intoxicated as Silenus – whether he actually was, Tumnus could never tell. Peridan, however, was _never_ oblivious.

Tumnus returned to his desk and the piles of correspondence, petitions, threats, requests, demands, and pleas. There was a teapot, still warm, and a carafe of Faun wine.

He wanted the wine and took the tea instead. Perhaps later he would go down to the kitchen and see who was about. He could play his pipes, someone might tell a story, and a Dwarf or Centaur would share a smoke. They could all take comfort in one another's company and forget for a night the fundamental strangeness of being surrounded by Humans who, despite the politeness they all affected, never quite seemed to shake the belief that their island home had been occupied by barn animals, circus performers, and freaks.

Finishing the letter to Lucy was the first order of business, and overdue. Tumnus plumped the pillow on his chair – an accommodation to haunches that had begun to creak a bit - sat at the tidy desk, freshened his ink and quill, and returned to the still mostly blank page.

_Jina's farewell went as well as expected, and perhaps better. We gathered at dawn on the beach. Those of us who knew Jina gave tribute to her. Director Linch spoke very movingly of Jina's friendship with his daughter. _

_Afterwards, there was the predictable argument among the Narnians here about how Jina made her final journey. Elos persisted, as a Satyr would, in demanding to know how Jina would find her way to Aslan's Country without Pan to guide her. This prompted Summer and Sopes to defend the ability of a Dog to find her way anywhere._

_All are very concerned about venomous snakes in the Glasswater and there are many theories circulating as to how they came to be there. I regret to say that the individuals most involved with the Stanleh audit suspect the matter has the unpleasant malodor of that House's former, now deceased, and unlamented Director. If we learn anything further, I shall send it. _

Tumnus paused, tapped a finger on his writing desk, and wondered what to say about Morgan's sad return. Lucy had been very circumspect regarding the breach between her brother and Banker Morgan; Hoberry had been far more enlightening in his private letter and Peridan had learned even more through his brother, Abnur.

The situation had been much talked of amongst the Narnians in residence at the Governor's House. Simpler folk, who had been less among Humans, might not have perceived the full of the situation. However, the Narnians assigned to Narrowhaven had been selected for this mission because they were more experienced with Humans in the wider world. Further, they all knew Banker Morgan's history and travel with the Narnians, had heard the stories and the songs, and seen the badge she had worn given to her by the Murder, the Pack, and the Romp. And they overheard what had been whispered with shock and even scorn here in Narrowhaven for months, that Morgan of Linch would leave the prestige and wealth of her House for a lowly younger King of tiny, crude Narnia.

_As my hastily penned note of earlier stated, Banker Morgan has returned to Narrowhaven. The Narnians here readily perceive that Jina's death does not fully explain Morgan's deep and obvious grief. They are very troubled and even hurt by her refusal to engage with them at all, so markedly different from her behavior of before. Though they speak of it only in worried whispers, they greatly fear that Narnia has lost a royal consort, blessed by Aslan, whom they and their King loved well. They see that she no longer wears the golden Lion pin and have drawn the logical and regrettable conclusion.  
_

The front bell rang, which was very odd as it was so late. The Centaur, Warin, was on duty and would see who was calling. Tumnus bent his ear and heard the familiar voice, very surprised that the one he had just written of avoiding them all had now sought them out.

Tumnus quickly slid the unfinished letter inside his desk.

"Banker Morgan, please, come in," he called at the soft knock on his door.

"I am sorry to come so late," she said, ducking her head and shuffling past Warin into the office. "I just … I know you said to come any time, and I didn't acknowledge you when you said it, and I'm sorry about that, but I did hear you, and…"

"Thank you, Warin," Tumnus said to the Centaur. "Morgan, please, do sit down. It's always a pleasure to see you and it is no imposition at all. Would you like some wine?"

"No thanks. I don't drink it."

Tumnus remembered the cautions. _Banker Morgan is a Crow. Like a Feline, she can be uncomfortable in the Human pack. She will not lie._ All these things were commonplace with Narnians. Most of all, he wanted to put her at ease.

Rather than shout at one another from across the formality of his desk, he showed her to the Human-proportioned chairs facing one another by the hearth. They were nearly knee to knee; a merry fire crackled in the grate to ward off the creeping damp chill; Dwarf-made lamps provided ample cheerful light; tapestries and thick rugs muffled sound. It was, by design, intimate and a perfect place for sharing a confidence.

Morgan perched at the edge of her seat like a nervous bird. She was shuffling letters in her hands – the same ones he had given her.

"What can I do for you, Morgan?"

She raised the letters in her hands up for his inspection. "I want to read them. I know I should read them. But…"

Her hands and the letters dropped into her lap and the words fell out. "I'm afraid to read them. I know I'll start blubbing again and everyone – the Bankers, I mean – they've all been wonderful, but these are all from Narnians and they won't understand. I don't want to read them alone. I want to read them with…"

"Another Narnian?" he finally supplied when she did not.

Morgan nodded. "Teddy and Keme offered. They kindly walked here with me, and we talked and I apologized, but they need to get back to their pups and..." Morgan dropped her voice low so he had to lean closer - she wanted to avoid listening ears. "_Sometimes it's nice to be among Narnians who can read? And have hands_?"

Tumnus held out his own hand. "I understand completely. Grief shared is grief lessened, Morgan. I would happy to read letters from our friends with you."

She let out a relieved sigh, gave him the letters, and, in a demonstration of her foresight, removed three large handkerchiefs from her pockets.

He shuffled through the letters. "As you can see, one is from our Monarchs. From the script and misspellings, I know it to be Queen Lucy who wrote. Three have the marks of being dictated, which means Beasts or Birds probably sent them. I recognize Hoberry and Mrs. Furner's handwriting on one and I'm not sure about this one."

"I think that's Eirene's writing," Morgan said. "And I think there is something inside it? Can we start with it?"

Tumnus cracked the seal and carefully unfolded the small sheet. _Oh. So that would be the way of this? _He should not be surprised, but still it was surprising to behold. "It is indeed from Eirene."

"What is it?" Her voice hiked in anxiety. "Is something wrong?"

"No, on the contrary. Hold out your hands. It isn't proper that I touch it." As if he was handling a delicate flower or a weak Fledgling, Tumnus gently slid the gift from the folds of the letter into Morgan's waiting palms.

"It's hair?"

"It is. Eirene has plucked hairs from her own tail, braided them, and now gives them to you."

"This means something, doesn't it?" Morgan asked. "Like when a Dryad gave me wood?"

"A Dryad gave you wood?" Tumnus repeated faintly. _That_ incredible gift had been omitted from the song.

She nodded.

"Yes," he managed, feeling the intruder in this _very_ intimate moment. "A Centaur exchanges braided tail hair only with someone with whom he or she shares a very close bond. It's something siblings will give to one another, or bondmates, or among members of a herd. I do not know the full symbology and there is often magic in the ritual to which I, of course, am not privy. You should speak to Warin."

"I will." Morgan stirred the hair in her palm with a finger. "I think it might be tingling a little. It feels warm. Do you suppose that's the magic?" She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Very likely. Eirene is a mage. And as she made it for you, it is magic that would be bound to you, and you both to each other."

"I keep thinking I wouldn't recognize magic if it hit me on the side of the head." Morgan touched the braid in her palm with a finger. "And here I am holding it in my hand." She carefully folded the reddish brown hairs into one her handkerchiefs and set it aside on the end table. "Does Eirene write anything? Does she say how she is? I was worried about her."

He scanned the short letter. "And she worries for you in return. She never had the chance to speak with you and writes that she recovered very well from her own injury. And she shares some Centaur poetry with you that she hopes eases your burden."

"A poem?"

"As I don't recognize it, I think she wrote it herself." Morgan reached for and took the letter from his hands.

_At last I am leaving: in rainless skies, a cool moon, pure is my heart_

_When my time comes, I shall not be like those  
whose hearts are filled with fear.  
Sing your jubilant song, _

_For I am a hero going home_

_Farewell. I pass as all things do dew on the grass. _

"She's so brave," Morgan said, carefully folding the letter back up. She set it with the braid on the table. "All Narnians are. I'm not like that. I'm such a disappointment, an embarrassment."

"Morgan, that's not how anyone else sees it," Tumnus replied, distressed that Morgan was so critical of her own contributions. "You were incredibly brave to have flown as you did."

"I was frightened witless. It was so dark and cold. I was sure I'd drag the General down with me, right into the sea and we'd be eaten by sharks."

Had Morgan been able to discuss this with anyone? She was carrying such heavy burdens. So much guilt, fear, and anxiety, and probably longing, too. These were all things he understood very well.

He sent a silent plea. _Oh Pan, grant me wits and wisdom to do your work. _Tumnus did not pray to Aslan, as it was at the Lion's paws that Tumnus lay the current problem.

Why, oh why did the Lion not grant one life's protection to spare dozens so much grief? Why did Aslan have to call Jina home _now_?

"Of course you were frightened, Morgan. Anyone who would not be is surely a great fool, which you are not."

Morgan sniffed. "Mrs. Furner said that being brave is being frightened and doing what you have to do, anyway."

"Mrs. Furner is very wise and you would do well to heed her. You were never trained to do this, it quite rightfully terrified you, and yet still you did it."

"But I had to!" Morgan insisted. "The Pack asked! It was for her!"

"Precisely. And make no mistake - you did this for the sake of one whom outsiders would dismiss as _just a dog._ It was wholly admirable and _much_ appreciated by Narnians."

Tumnus set the letters on the armrest of his chair. "Now, you do not drink wine, and I do not have ale, but surely I do have something appealing to you. This will be thirsty work."

"No Lightning. I got so drunk on it at the Duffle clan hold I sang the Moose Song."

Taking that as assent, he stood and went over to his liquor cabinet. The thick carpet muffled the _clip clip _of his hooves. "I have found those two often go together and can provide something more palatable. I am well-provisioned, mostly gifts to our former Governor Florian, though Peridan has made a considerable dent in it. I do wish he would drink the pineapple wine but he claims he is too refined for it!"

He opened the cabinet across from his desk and spoke over his shoulder. "If not a Narnian spirit, perhaps some _raku_?" Peridan had told him that the Narrowhaven Bankers all had a taste for the fine things of Calormen, _raku_ being one of the finest. Replacing that preference for Narnia goods was a subtle and long term project.

"Oh, alright, yes please. It would be very churlish to refuse Florian's finest!"

He was pouring when Morgan exclaimed, "Oh! I am the dolt. There is a note here from the Duffles!"

She was reading the message when he returned with the glasses to their cozy seats. "Is it good news? Did the High King approve the supply agreement?"

Morgan took the glass from him and then raised it to his own. "He did!" She actually smiled. "I'm so happy for them!"

Tumnus looked over the letter from the Duffle clan. "And how nice that they wrote to thank you for your help in seeing it done. You do good work for Narnia, Morgan. My thanks to you on her behalf."

Morgan stared at her drink, subdued again. He'd heeded the warning to never give Morgan of Linch a full glass. "Thank you," she muttered.

Setting his glass down – he liked _raku_ only marginally more than Lightning – Tumnus again returned to the stack of letters and found one likely to be less painful. "From the toe claw mark, I think this is from Chief Sallowpad."

"He never writes anything! Dictates, I mean," she amended.

He slipped his fingers under the wax seal and opened the card. "It's very brief." Tumnus smiled at the terse note. "And so very typical of the Chief."

He handed the four sentences to Morgan.

_I am sorry. I miss her too.  
You owe me a report. When are you coming back to give it to me? _

"The Chief doesn't mince words, does he?" Morgan said.

"He is _such _a Crow," Tumnus agreed.

"What's wrong with that?" Morgan asked, sounding sharply defensive.

"Nothing at all. I have known Sallowpad a very long time and admire him very much. Reading a letter like this reminds me why, all over again."

She turned the card over and stared at the inked toe claw imprint. "I know Narnians call me a Crow. It's not a compliment."

"You _are_ wearing their badge, which the Murder awarded you," Tumnus replied, pointing to where the pin was affixed to her sleeve. "And as for others finding fault, well, I eagerly await the day when I might follow the wisdom of a Narnian who is without it."

"You are being kind." Her hand shook a little as she took a sip of her drink.

"I am being honest," Tumnus retorted and took a tiny sip of his own drink. "Now, which letter next? Perhaps the one from Mr. Hoberry and Mrs. Furner?"

"Yes, please."

Tumnus unfolded the note, seeing the two authors sharing the page there. "Repeating what I just said, Mrs. Furner exclaims again what an extraordinary thing you did in returning for Jina's farewell. _You didn't let me cozen you like you deserved and_ _I'm worried you've caught your death and I've had some warmer clothes made up for you. You'll have come to back try them on. Jezebel has made matching hair bows and ornaments_. _Her bows are much neater. You won't look like you are flying a ship's mainsail from your backside._"

"That's very kind of both of them." Morgan smiled and set her drink aside to rub her palms on her trouser legs. "I do like what she had made for me." The Banker was wearing Narnian clothing, even here among her own people and, Tumnus suspected, one of King Edmund's shirts. "And what does Mr. Hoberry say?"

"He added his note to the one from Mrs. Furner," Tumnus said. He would recognize Hoberry's neat script anywhere; they had both learned to write from the same aged Faun a very long time ago. "What he writes is more personal. Would you still like me to read it?"

"Yes, please do." Morgan shifted nervously in her seat and clutched the handkerchief in her lap.

"_Banker Morgan, I regret that I could not do more at the time to ease your grief. May you find comfort among your friends and family. _

_Sometimes we don't wish to speak of the loss; other times, all we want to do is speak of how much we miss someone special to us. Should you ever wish to talk of or write about Jina, please know that I will always be your willing listener and correspondent._"

Morgan dabbed her eyes and sniffed.

"There is more, Morgan. Would you like me to continue reading?"

She nodded and blew her nose.

"_Banker Morgan, I regret to say that death leaves a hole in the living. I assure you that, eventually, the hole becomes smaller. You will learn to navigate around it and you will fall into its despairing depths less frequently. _

_Though time will never wholly heal your wounds, the crippling grief will ease. Be kind and gentle to yourself in the meantime._

_Please know that when our heart hurts, that does not mean we were wrong to let in the one we love. It means we were right to do so. Remember well, live well, love again."_

Tumnus waited until her weeping subsided. He held her drink while she dried her tears and then fed her a few sips.

"He understands, doesn't he?" Morgan murmured.

"He does."

"It was very good of him to share to so much." She stared at the drink in her hands, a stalling gesture, and then looked up at him. "Aslan would say that this is someone else's story?"

Tumnus disliked that expression. He thought Narnians used the hoary adage to justify the Lion's conveniently arbitrary practice of never giving you enough information to make a sound decision. "More accurately, it is Hoberry's own tale to tell, which I am sure he will, should you wish to hear it from him."

She nodded, took another sip of her drink and a deeper breath. "Alright. I'm ready for the next one. I suspect they are only going to get harder."

"There is the note from Queen Lucy…"

"I'll wait on that, " Morgan said quickly. There was a long pause as what had so far been unspoken now hung between them. "Has King Edmund written?"

"No, Morgan, not yet. Perhaps you might write to him?"

It was an effort he had to make to try to open up the communication between them again and begin building a bridge over the breach. But Morgan looked away with a shrug, so Tumnus reached for another letter and opened it.

"_Oh dear_."

"What is it?" Morgan asked turning back to him, sounding worried again. "Is it bad news?"

"No, not bad news. It's from the Romp. The Otters send their _most_ profane greetings. They regret that they cannot write more as they are moving to the Glasswater to eat snakes."

"Oh!" Morgan exclaimed. "That's very brave of them!"

"And mercenary. Bitel wants to know how many effing oranges she will get for each effing snake she eats and asks you to get on those bloody Monarchs and see she gets what she's effing owed."

Morgan laughed. "They'll bankrupt Narnia over fruit!"

"I will just omit the worst of their profanity if you don't mind?"

Morgan leaned over to study the letter in his hands. "That's Master Roblang's writing. He must have taken the dictation for them."

"I have to admire Roblang's equanimity. Garbon demands to know if you are still wearing their badge and if you aren't, Gnash says he'll bite you in the arse. They are very pissed off that you didn't say good-bye before leaving and will bite you in the arse when you return even if you are wearing their badge."

She laughed, a welcome sound. "They _are _incorrigible."

"They are foul but very fond of you, Morgan. I've had word that they are nigh on completely unruly without you."

"I know," Morgan said and touched the wooden pin on her sleeve with the Crow, the Hound, and the Orange Tree.

Tumnus suspected that one of the reasons the Otters were willing to endure the relocation was to wreak revenge on the snakes that had killed the Orange Lady's best friend. The Otters were going willingly but it was a dangerous undertaking and Morgan did not need that guilt, as well. She had not been raised to the Narnian ways that saw sacrifice and death as very much an accepted part of life. Granted, Tumnus thought Narnians sometimes welcomed hardship too readily, very much with the same equanimity with which Roblang had taken the Otters' dictation. In his very private opinion, Narnians excused a great deal on the glib excuse that Aslan was "not a tame Lion."

"There's one left, I think," Tumnus said, holding up the letter. "Shall I open it?"

"I don't know," Morgan eventually stammered. "It's from Rafiqa."

_Jina's daughter. _

"She… she was there, when it happened. She was going to be my guard while..." Morgan's voice dropped to a whisper, "while her mother whelped."

"You do not have to hear this now, Morgan. We can read it together some other time."

He waited while she fidgeted and stared at the letter, played with her drink, and squirmed in her seat. She twisted the last, unsoiled handkerchief in her lap into a tight knot and finally said, "Read it, please. Aloud."

"Master Roblang took this dictation as well," Tumnus said.

_Dear Banker Morgan:_

_Hounds do not speak letters much. We scent and hear, feel, and see, and a letter doesn't give us any of that. It's hard for me to use words when I can't sense you so far away. Before I spoke this to Master Roblang, Mr. Hoberry let me go to the bedrooms where you slept. Your scent was still there and it made me miss you more. Under the bed I found a handkerchief that you cried in during Jina's farewell. Mr. Hoberry said he was sure you would not mind if the Pack kept it for you, safe. So, we are and I hope you will return to get it back._

_My mother's greatest joy was being your friend. I would like to be your friend and guard you and help you as my mother did. If you will have me._

_Master Roblang said I should finish this with what I feel, so I say,_

_With sadness because we love and miss you,_

_Rafiqa_

Tumnus scooted his chair over and put an arm over Morgan's shoulders as she wept into her handkerchief.

"Shall I get another?" he asked, for since that first day he met Lucy, Tumnus now always kept a ready supply of handkerchiefs.

Morgan sniffed, shook her head, and stuffed the damp linen into her pocket. "No, it's alright. Or, well, it's not alright but Mr. Hoberry was right. It does start to hurt a little less. Thank you, Tumnus, for helping me."

"I was glad to do this, Morgan. You are much loved in Narnia and we all grieve, both for Jina and for you."

He stacked the letters and set them on the table next to the letter from Eirene, careful to not touch the hair bracelet the Centauress had made.

"All this crying is exhausting." Morgan scrubbed her eyes and yawned. "I should go home."

"It's late," Tumnus told her. "You are weary. Would you like to just take a bed here for the night?"

"I couldn't do that," she protested. "I'm not Narnian."

"No?"

Morgan touched again the Narnian badge on her sleeve. "That was a foolish thing to say, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but I won't tell anyone." Tumnus stood and put out a hand. "Let's find you a room. By morning, those who are here will have heard the news and will want to breakfast with you."

She took his hand and he helped her rise from her seat.

"I hope they don't bring bugs and squishy dead things to the breakfast table. That tends to happen a lot. I want to be polite but it's very unappetizing."

"Has anyone ever regurgitated food for you?"

Morgan laughed, genuinely, and strongly, and it was a delight to hear. _Thank you, Father Pan, for your guidance. _

He escorted her from the office and into the wide, vaulted corridor toward the guest rooms. A few sconces flickered on the walls but most Narnian eyes were keen at night. Soft scuffles and winking eyes followed them down the dark hallway.

Morgan's sigh sounded contented now. "I forget what it's like to always have others around you. You're never really alone in Narnia."

At a rustling of feathers overhead, Morgan looked up into the dark rafters. "Chayton, is that you? Or Sadie?"

"It's me," Sadie replied.

Morgan held out her arm and the Crow flapped down and landed on the offered perch. She tapped the badge on Morgan's sleeve with her beak.

"I'm glad you still wear our Black Bird."

"I'll always wear it, Sadie. Did you win a wager on that?"

"No bets this time, Banker Morgan." Sadie stretched her neck and stroked Morgan's cheek with her beak. "It's just good to see you again."

"Thank you, Sadie. It's good to see you, too. I apologize for being unkind."

Sadie bobbed her head, then hopped off Morgan's arm and flew away down the hall.

"She might not have taken a wager before but she probably is now," Morgan said with a dry laugh. "I should have made her lay one down for me."

"The bedrooms, for Humans, are this way," Tumnus said, gesturing down the hallway. "We have a room always made up."

Morgan stopped. "Well… I…"

"Yes?"

"Are the Canines sleeping somewhere? Together? Like they do at Cair Paravel in the Run?"

"They do," he replied. "There's a room on this floor with bedding for them. They are there now."

"Do you think I could join them? Would they mind?"

"They would be very pleased if you joined them, Morgan."

Tumnus was deeply touched. It was something his Kings and Queens did – eschewing the relative privacy and comfort of their beds to be with their subjects in their own dens and nests. He found an extra blanket for her in a cupboard and they went to the office that had been given over to the Canines.

"There are over a dozen Dogs and other Canines here in residence. Summer and Sopes had a litter while you were away. The Pups are all weaned but they will rise early and be noisy. Are you sure?"

"Yes," Morgan said.

Tumnus pushed the door open for her. There were a few growls of complaint and he could see heads popping up and eyes glowing in the dark.

Summer spoke first. "Tumnus, is all well? Who is that with you?"

"It's Banker Morgan!"

There were sounds of tails thumping on the floor and claws scrabbling on the floors

"Yes, it's me and no, don't get up," Morgan said. "Just budge over. I'm looking for a place to spend the night."

Tumnus pulled the swinging door so it was just ajar the way Narnians without hands preferred it and left the Banker and the Canines to sort themselves out.

He returned to his desk, feeling lighter on his hooves than he had in a ten-day. He poured himself a proper glass of Faun wine, toasted Father Pan in thanks, sipped the sweet, strong liquor, and examined his letter of woe to Lucy.

He sat again at the desk, freshened his quill, and added,

_My dear friend, for all the sadness and concern of which I have just written, I am hopeful. There is still a long journey to make, and obstacles to overcome, but I believe healing has begun. Take heart, for I have._

_I would wish Father Christmas to bring us a bit of home this Yule. As we must hope for the best but plan for the lack, please see that the final ship that comes here before we are locked in for the winter is adequately supplied for a merry Yule and New Year that might be celebrated in proper Narnian style. _

After the reflections of earlier, he felt the hypocrite, but still closed the letter to Lucy as he always did,

_May the Lion watch over you,_

_Tumnus_

* * *

To come, _Yule Tidings_, in which many gifts are given and received and journeys are planned.

* * *

Poetry is taken from the website allspirit dot com dot uk. Poems on the site used above are attributed to Tecumseh and death Zen poems by Senseki and Banzan.

Thanks so much to those of you who let me know you are still reading. I really appreciate it. The NFE Reveals are up and I did two stories_, Mazy Rings and Troublesome Things_ posted on this site and a cracky crossover _Light To The Misled And Lonely Traveler_, which is on AO3. Also on AO3 as part of the NFE madness round is a new story to add to the _Stone Gryphon_ verse from a so far anonymous author, _The Rabbit of the High King_. It's adorable.

I am sorry I've not responded to some reviews. I've been trying hard to get this up. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.


	23. Yule Tidings

_Yule Tidings  
_In which many gifts are given and received and important journeys are undertaken and future journeys planned.

* * *

Trigger Warning: The beginning of this very long chapter includes a point of view OC who is suffering a significant depressive episode. There is no self-harm or violent behavior and she does improve. However, the first scene or two could be triggering.

By the end of this chapter, the action and timeline here match with the Narnia Yule celebration in Chapter 20, _Covered In Thorns_. You may want to review the last half of that chapter if you are uncertain where Edmund is in all of this.

* * *

The Albatross messengers announcing their arrival from Cair Paravel woke her. Morgan rolled over in the bed to look out the window but the thick pane was ice covered. She could hear hooves and booted feet running up the stone stairs to the roof. The big Birds needed lots of room to land and support from those who had hands. They were beautiful in the air and comically awkward on the ground.

Once shut-in started, Morgan moved from a blanket on the floor of the room the Canines slept in to a proper bed in a guest room. Linch House was echoingly bare without Harold in her bed and office, without Jina in her nest outside the door, and without Sallowpad shedding feathers from the rafters. Teddy and Keme offered to keep her company but they had their own responsibilities and Morgan didn't want to be a burden to them.

The Director had suggested that, given the dismal weather, rather than trudging up the Silver Stair from the Narnian Governor's House to Linch House every morning and back down again in the evening, she might want to move to a different set of rooms in Linch House. The Director hadn't asked why, but Morgan was sure that he and Pierce had both realized that she was avoiding places that triggered too many memories.

Maybe the Birds arriving were carrying a letter from Harold. He'd not written her. Morgan's conscience pricked her at least twelve times a day over who owed whom a letter.

There were fewer questions if she just avoided it all.

_I'm very good at avoiding things._

With quiet falling again, Morgan thought about getting up, decided it was too much effort, and burrowed deeper into the wool and down stuffed blankets. The old, worn courtship agreement crackled under her pillow. She slipped her hand under the blanket and stroked the fading, crinkled parchment.

They were even, she supposed. Harold had left her, first. Now she had left him. If this was reciprocal, she'd have to go sailing into Cair Paravel with a large escort, a fine ship, gifts, and a new wardrobe.

There was no way she could do it. If she sailed into the Cair Paravel harbour, Harold would send the General out with a Wing and drop boulders on her. It was no less than she deserved for this humiliation she had visited upon them. She couldn't bear to write him when she knew surely what his response would be. It was better not knowing and she could continue the fantasy that King Edmund would sail into Narrowhaven, liberate her from some pirates and threaten to, but not actually, lop off Alan's head.

Jina would have scolded her and made her be reasonable. But Jina was gone so Morgan was left to her own dismal recounting, over and over and over, of how she had failed.

_Failed Jina. _

_Failed Harold._

_Failed everyone. _

The circle of grim thoughts spiraled ever downward and pulled her deeper under the covers. Morgan burrowed in.

_I'll just stay here until Spring. _

It was hard, cold, gray, and unforgiving out there where everything died. She'd ignored the warnings and invested in things that eat.

Sometimes the best you can do is get out of bed and sometimes not even that.

_Yes, I'll just stay in bed. It's not as if anyone would notice._

She'd just leave the shut-in year-end accounting to Pierce and the Director and those juniors, Chase and Wells, who'd taken her accounts.

_Mine. They are mine. They took them. No one takes things that belong to me. Everyone likes them more, too. I'm too mean, too critical. No one wants to hear my bad news and harsh truths. _

They had all written her off like a bad asset, assuming that she was going back to Narnia. She didn't have the courage or the heart to correct the assumption. The hypocrisy of continuing to seek out the Narnians for comfort and company pricked her conscience more often than the guilt.

_One more thing I'm doing wrong_.

Morgan felt the tears start, again, and rubbed her face on the blanket. She had just woken up from another fitful night and was _tired_. Why couldn't she sleep when she was so exhausted? She was _so tired of crying_.

The sounds of boot steps, hooves, and toenails in the hall meant the messages had been retrieved and the Birds shown to the Rook – which here was a converted carriage house. She heard doors slam and barking. The Canines were up and about now, too.

Someone with hands knocked on the door. "Morgan?" Tumnus asked.

Maybe Harold _had_ written!

"I'm up!" Even though she wasn't.

"We've had messages from the Palace that need to be delivered to Stanleh. I think it concerns Seth Stanleh."

_So, nothing for me. _

_I might as well just go back to sleep._

Dashing that life goal, she heard Summer say, "I'll make sure she comes for breakfast. Morgan, you shut your door again and I can't get in. You know you should not shut your door as there might be a fire, attack, kidnapping, or other emergency. Mr. Tumnus, would you be so kind?"

"Of course."

"Thank you, Mr. Tumnus. Morgan will join you shortly."

The door creaked ajar and Summer, the Shepherd, nosed it open further. "Still abed, Morgan? It's time to get up! The sun is up! The ice is melting so it will be safe for you to walk. There are things to do! Messages to deliver! The Director will be expecting you at Linch House soon!"

"I'm sleeping in! I don't need help! I'm fine! Leave me alone!"

"Morgan…." Summer warned with a growl.

She gingerly put a toe out of the bed and with a yelp, pulled it back in. The floor was very cold, very far away, and the hooks where her clothes hung on the opposite wall might as well be in Calormen. Morgan knew, however, there was little chance of prevailing against a Shepherd on a mission. Summer and Sopes would pull the blankets right off of her. One morning when even that hadn't been enough to rouse Morgan from her stupor, the Shepherds had summoned their litter of Puppies, now weaned, but very gangly, mouthy, and noisy, and all eight of them had jumped into the bed and bounced Morgan right out of it.

"Sopes and Summer are not trying to replace Jina," Tumnus had confided to her. "They are accustomed to having a job and without flocks to guard, they look for others to manage. It seems that they have selected you for their duty."

Until this ordeal, Morgan had never needed management. On the contrary, she managed others, kept them on schedules, and made them do their assigned tasks. She was developing a lot of sympathy for how Harold felt about Jalur's management.

Sopes and Summer weren't as perceptive as Jina had been. They were very opinionated, nosy, pessimistic busy-bodies who always were trying to change things to the way they thought things should be, rather than helping Morgan see the world better. On the other paw, they made her malingering, layabout existence impossible.

Summer thoughtfully pushed the door so it was closed, but not shut. Not so thoughtfully, she took the blanket in her mouth and pulled. "It is time to rise, Morgan," the Shepherd said between her clenched teeth. "As Mr. Tumnus said, there are messages from Cair Paravel that you must deliver to Stanleh House and most everyone is already at table." With a Shepherd's typical worry, she added, "If you do not hurry they might eat all the food and then you would go hungry. It is chilly today for Humans. Should I summon assistance to help you dress in proper clothing since I do not have thumbs?"

"No, it's fine, Summer. I can dress myself." Robbed of blankets and cold air hitting her, Morgan finally slid out of the bed and her feet landed on the chilly stone. She nearly crawled back into bed but Summer bumped her in the legs and gave her a push toward her clothes. Once up, she moved quickly, slipped into layers of warm, soft woolens, and washed up. A film of ice had formed over the basin, but she broke that easily, a bracing wake-up to be sure. The Governor's House had Human conveniences but when you wore fur coats or feathers, Narnians just didn't worry as much about cold.

Summer circled around her, sniffing and inspecting, and the door creaked open again.

"I have found you!" Sopes announced, trotting into the room with the air of one who had solved a great mystery and averted catastrophe. "Mr. Tumnus said you were coming to breakfast, but when you did not arrive, I was worried something might have happened, so I thought I had better come and make sure everything is all right." He raised his shaggy black and white head and sniffed. "Everything seems all right, though I believe there are large bears here this morning?"

"Everything is fine," Summer answered, before Morgan could. "You are correct that Morgan did not want to get out of bed due to bears, but of course I managed it very well and only had to pull the blanket off of her. She is ready now and warmly dressed and we need to make certain she eats a good breakfast and that the bears do not steal her appetite."

"We should jog to breakfast then," Sopes said. "Ajouga Fumb and Gahiji say that brisk exercise increases appetite and will help chase Morgan's bears away."

"I really don't want to be sweating at the breakfast table!" Morgan knew she should be offended but she simply could not help but smile inwardly at the Shepherds' perpetual fretting. _Where are you? Where did you go? Are you dead? Where are you going? Are we on time? Are you hungry? Have you slept? Are you dressed appropriately? With whom are you meeting? I should come with you in case you fall down a well._

And the_ bears_. She was _so sick_ of the bears.

Her protestations aside, Sopes and Summer hurried her toward the dining room and the scent of a Narnian fry up. She refused to run but they did crowd her from behind.

"If you snap at my heels or bite me, I'm not going another step!"

The Shepherds were right that most everyone had already moved on, though Tumnus, Peridan, and Warin were still at table. Warin, being a Centaur, would be at it a while longer, Tumnus was reading the morning correspondence, and Peridan looked like he hadn't been to bed yet. Gahiji, the Cat, was sitting on the table, delicately disemboweling a fish.

"Good morning," she gasped out, to which the others all responded each according to his or her kind – Tumnus returned a courteous and warm, "Good morning." Warin raised a ladle, dripping with porridge, in a salute. Peridan didn't open his eyes and grunted. Gahiji raised her head from the fish to blink a _hello_. Chayton and Sadie were up in the beams and opened their beaks to greet her, with the result that bits of grub fell down on to the table.

Just a typical Narnian breakfast. Morgan sank with relief into her chair.

Ajouga Fumb was sitting in the usual place at the end of the table, on the way to the kitchens and would fetch and carry platters of food and clear plates. Morgan had learned that when speaking to someone who might be, or might not be, a Black Dwarfess, _they_ was the correct, polite term, not _she_ or _he_. Visually you certainly could not tell their sex for Ajouga Fumb was dressed like a man, in trousers, sturdy boots and a shapeless shift; a beard peeped out from beneath a deep, shadowed hood and the rest of their face was hidden. It was all very mysterious and while anyone with a decent nose would know whether Ajouga Fumb was male or female, all were too polite to comment upon it. Ajouga Fumb never said a word; Gahiji spoke for both of them.

"The bears were difficult this morning?" Gahiji asked.

Morgan nodded and Ajouga Fumb set a plate down in front of her heaped with fish, eggs, and baked apples. The cup of coffee looked very small.

Next to it, they set down a cup of water with green stems and dried flowers floating in it. Ajouga Fumb and Gahiji had been making her drink this goatsweed infusion for days now. The morning's brew looked particularly thick and bitter.

"Double dose," Gahiji said. The Cat looked at Ajouga Fumb and then said, "Morgan, you must get out in the sun today and do something so active that you breathe faster than normal and sweat."

"Sopes and Summer made me run here from the other end of the House!" Morgan was feeling very put upon.

"But that's not outside!" Summer countered.

"We can make her run up and down the Silver Stair!" Sopes said.

Both Dogs wagged their tails and Gahiji mewled her approval. "Excellent."

She sighed for another battle lost, managed to drink the goatsweed brew without gagging, and then contemplated the excellent plate piled with food in front of her. She wasn't very hungry – she hadn't been hungry since leaving Narnia – but wasting food was never good and especially impolite among Narnians. Morgan dutifully began eating even though the bears had convinced her it all tasted of bland slop.

Peridan was staring at his coffee cup, as if wishing it to magically refill and cure his hangover. "What is the origin of the term _bears_ to describe melancholy? I've never heard it except amongst Narnians."

Tumnus and Warin both looked up from their respective plates and there was an uncomfortable pause.

"Oh, I see," Peridan said calmly. "Well, no matter, then. My apologies for raising ponderous subjects at breakfast. I shall lay the blame for my lapse upon last night's palm wine and this morning's plum brandy. Would anyone besides me like more coffee?"

Morgan quickly gulped down her coffee and waved her cup for Peridan, hoping Ajouga Fumb wouldn't object. The Narnians were strictly monitoring how much coffee she drank and Summer and Sopes would moan and whinge if she tried to sneak any in the afternoon or evening. She'd taken to hiding coffee beans and sucking on them when they weren't around, though the Shepherds could still smell them and would scold her.

A sudden wave of longing washed over her. Harold used to whinge when Jalur nagged him. _"You are more Horse than Tiger!"_

"The origin of bears is no secret," Warin said gravely, starting in on an enormous platter of root vegetables. Morgan wasn't sure if that was for the Horse stomach or the Human stomach. Between chews, he added, "Quite the opposite. It is sad, but older Narnians are especially mindful of the problem of bears for that very reason."

"So it dates from the Long Winter?" Peridan asked.

"Yes," Tumnus replied. "When the Winter came and no Spring followed, many hibernating Beasts suffered terribly. If they did awake, they were very hungry but of course there was very little food. Others never awoke from hibernation. Many starved to death in the first year."

"Because of their size, it affected Bears especially, Talking and dumb," Gahiji said, flicking her tail. "And it is why are very careful to treat Narnians who exhibit symptoms of what killed so many bears and others."

Morgan shuddered and made herself eat the baked apples with fresh resolve. She was not going to let that happen to her. She just had to endure this and it _would_ get better if she worked at it. Eventually.

When no one made any move to take pity on his hungover state (and she couldn't do anything with two Shepherds lying on her feet), Peridan got up himself and poured fresh cups of coffee for both of them. She nodded her thanks and after a hiss from Gahiji and what felt like a pointed stare from Ajouga, stopped playing with her eggs and tried to eat them.

"This does put an interesting cast on something I'm hearing about," Peridan said, slumping back into his seat and cradling his cup in his hands. "There is a great deal of concern in Lower Town and beyond that Narnia won't manage the Islands' winter supply needs as well as the Bankers.

Tumnus smashed butter over his toast so aggressively, the bread snapped, flew off his plate and landed in Summer's waiting jaws under the table. "Oh bother." He picked through the remaining piece and dipped it in his egg. "The terrible fate of our hibernating Beasts and beasts notwithstanding, Narnia _did_ survive 100 years of winter. I tire of the wholly ungrounded fear of a few weeks of leaner times. Even if we were completely without, which we are not, it's a matter of a month, two at most."

Not be left out if Summer got food from the table, Chayton let out an indignant squawk overhead and black feathers floated down into her breakfast. Morgan flipped a piece of her fish up into Chayton's waiting beak.

Sopes started moaning so Warin dropped a piece of carrot from his plate under the table.

"I think that's part of the fear, actually," Peridan replied, and tossed a sausage up to Sadie who was snapping her beak at being left out. "Lone Islanders think Narnians make too light of hardship and expect common folk to just endure it as they do."

"Hmmm…" Tumnus replied and, looking thoughtful, sipped his tea. "Yes, I can see how that would be so. Narnians can seem very accepting of ill fortune and hard times."

It was always so interesting when it was just Peridan and Tumnus alone. They didn't like each other very much but there was always a lot of respect. Morgan hadn't realized that the animosity the two of them so often shown outside the Governor's House was really a ruse.

"Lone Islanders don't trust in Aslan to provide and believe we are foolish to do so," Peridan concluded.

There were growls and snaps of discontent in the dining room at the mere mention of criticism of Aslan.

"Oh hush," Tumnus scolded. "You all know better than that. We're _not_ Foolish Fauns. Aslan expects us to make our own plans and solve our own problems. He is certainly not a pet available at our every beckon and call."

_That_ was certainly true. Aslan hadn't saved the Bears, hadn't stopped the Long Winter, and hadn't kept Harold from the Witch. He hadn't saved Jina. If Aslan was so powerful, why didn't he do more to prevent all this pain and hurt?

"Morgan?"

The direct query started her out of her morose thoughts. "I'm sorry, did you say something, Peridan?"

"Thinking at breakfast is appallingly uncivilized in some parts of the world but then as Tumnus so often reminds me, I am appallingly uncivilized. I wonder, AD of Linch, what your thoughts are on the fears of the Lone Islanders regarding our provisioning for the duration of the winter shut-in?"

Mentally, Morgan called up the inventories and divided it by household and by total population. She knew the answer before even going through the mechanics of recalculating it, but seeing numbers order themselves in neat rows in her head was such a pleasure, she confirmed the sums anyway. She ran through the spreadsheets and ledgers that were both on her desk and stored in her mind, page, and after page… _Stop. Right there._ "There is enough in the storehouses and warehouses to get the populations of Doorn and Avra through to when winter breaks, and a month beyond that. Barring catastrophe, no one will miss a meal. Real hunger would only occur in an unprecedented calamity. It's not as if we did not know how much has been needed in the past," she added with a scoff. "There's as much as there has always been."

"Precisely," Tumnus replied. "Does the population really think we ignored the Bankers' meticulous records of the last 40 years documenting the Islands' needs when they're storm-locked through the winter?"

"The populace doesn't know and has no reason to trust that Narnia does or would be truthful," Peridan answered, which were all reasonable observations.

"We should offer the merchants tours of our warehousing," Tumnus said. "They can satisfy themselves that we are prepared."

As they all nodded, Morgan added, "We should also let them lock in supply contracts. If they want to pay for the holding and storage costs themselves, spreading inventory out rather than keeping it at a few warehouses would reduce risk of loss, too."

"Might that incentivize hoarding and price gouging?" Peridan asking those kinds of perceptive questions always made Morgan wonder where the man had come from. She'd heard he had respectable relatives from Archenland and a brother living on Galma who was in diplomacy.

"If there's enough supply, that shouldn't be a problem," she answered. "And I can put something in the sale contracts to _strongly_ discourage rogue behavior." Morgan was good at thinking up lots of punitive measures.

"With Yule coming on, I think it a good opportunity to demonstrate the largesse of Narnia," Tumnus said. "The Monarchs have given out Yule baskets of food to any who wish it and we should institute the same here. It would build confidence and earn good will."

Morgan nodded and started running in her head what might be provided – how many, how much, the barrels and pallets... The High Street storehouse in Lower Town had oil, salt, flour, rice and staples. There were barrels of wine, cider, and ale at the docks near the pubs. The cold cellar storage had apples, squash, root vegetables, bacon, salted fish…

Fish… she looked down at her plate and realized she had just eaten everything on it. Feeling something very like genuine hunger, she helped herself to some toast.

"I thought we might also host an event on Yule's eve for Narrowhaven," Peridan said. "Invite the town, open up the Governor's House, offer Narnian food and drink, play our music, get everyone drunk, hand out a few Lions and Trees."

"You will need to heat the Governor's House better," Morgan warned. "Otherwise people won't take their shoes off."

ooOOoo

Sopes and Summer chased her up the Silver Stair so hard and fast, three times, Morgan sweated through her clothes and had to sponge off and change at Linch House. The heated water was a nice change and led her to wonder what the winter would have been like in Cair Paravel. Then she started crying again and had to wash up a third time to hide it and excuse her red eyes as just due to soap.

New accounts had come in from the other Houses that morning but the Director had already parsed out the work to the juniors with Chase and Wells reviewing their work. Pierce had been through the Sterns accounts received so far and she was supposed to confirm that work, which was boring. While Stanleh work, like the late, unlamented Director's accounts last year, was subtle and clever, Sterns' accounts were just sloppy. Once Conclave ended, she was going to be part of a team giving Sterns' juniors some remedial training.

She'd intended to procrastinate on the one thing that was important on her otherwise unimpressive _To Do_ list. Summer and Sopes, however, were wise to her strategy. Just as she was sitting down – in Pierce's unoccupied office – to conduct her perfunctory confirmation of his work, the fretting began…

"Shouldn't you take the letters to Maeve Stanleh that came this morning?" Sopes worried.

"It is nearly the noon bell," Summer lamented. "Your Director said there was nothing urgent here, so isn't now a good time to go to Stanleh? Mr. Tumnus said one of the letters is from King Edmund. They must be important."

The only thing worse than an interfering, worrying Shepherd was when there were two of them and each was trying to out-do the other as the most responsible.

"Going outside again would be good for you. But if you cannot, I can take the letters to Stanleh House for you. I could carry them in my mouth."

"We could both go, and one of us could talk and the other could carry the letters…"

"Fine!" Morgan shouted at the anxious Shepherds. "I'll go! Just be quiet!"

She made Sopes and Summer stay behind but they still insisted on standing at the stoop of Linch House and watching her cross the street to Stanleh. "You could fall on ice," Summer said.

"You might need rescuing," Sopes insisted. "From pirates. Or robbers."

A junior promptly escorted her to Maeve's offices – which had been Constance's office and before that, the Stanleh Director's office – the largest rooms in the heart of the House. Maeve was preparing to take Stanleh over and assume the Directorship – Narnia hadn't signed off on it but Morgan hadn't really found a reason other than spite to deny the petition made to Tumnus.

_Pierce and Maeve. Still?_ _Related to Maeve. Ugh._

It _was_ almost noon so her brother and Maeve were both up, clothed, and working. Pierce gave her a searching look as Maeve invited her in to the office – surely, he could tell she'd been crying but thankfully didn't say anything.

"What can I do for you, Morgan?" Maeve asked, showing her to a red velvet-cushioned chair and sitting across from her on the leather sofa, with the work table between them. "Is this Narnia business?"

"Yes, a letter from Seth arrived today." Morgan handed Maeve the first letter. "And another one arrived today from King Edmund." _For you. Not for me._

Maeve eagerly took Seth's letter and opened it with trembling fingers. She read as she always did – Maeve was very efficient that way – she would skim a document first for the salient points and then go back and re-read more closely.

Maeve gasped.

"Maeve?" Pierce asked, moving to sit next to her on the couch. "What is it? Is it bad news?"

She shook her head a little, now reading the letter carefully.

Maeve would want Harold's letter next and Morgan really wished she did not have to surrender it. Morgan had scrounged for every scrap of his beautiful handwriting left in the House from last year, even the _To Do_ lists with the completed tasks carefully crossed out and always a few he never managed to finish - that management problem, again. She kept the scraps all by her bed and would re-read them when she couldn't sleep and tried to not cry over them and make them splotchy.

_Look for Morgan's missing button in Morgan's bed  
Look for Morgan's missing button in Morgan's room  
Look for extra button in laundry  
Look for extra button in rag bag  
Enlist Rats to find button in exchange for bag of pistachios  
Prepare explanations in advance to ignore, apologize, or commend for creativity, depending on where Rats find a button and what they do to procure it  
Sew button on Morgan's shirt.  
Negotiate to return shirt to Morgan in exchange for her performance of Illustration 13  
Repeat_

Hearing both Pierce and Maeve call her name pulled Morgan back to the present. It was harder than it should have been but she handed Harold's letter to Maeve.

"Thank you." Maeve carefully cracked the red wax seal – Scale, Crow, Lion, and Wand – and Morgan nearly started crying again remembering that her own Tree would have been added to that insignia.

Maeve spread both letters out on the table in front of her and Pierce leaned over to read them with her.

"Seth says that if I'm willing, we could see each other. King Edmund writes to formally confirm the offer." She looked up from her letters. "He writes just as you have spoken, Morgan. That I should only do so if I truly wish and that I should not feel any obligation to do so. I do see where you have gotten it all from."

"He's like a contagion," Morgan said. Even she realized that didn't sound right. "Not a disease of course. It's true with all of them. They model behavior you feel like an absolute wretch if you don't copy. The High King has refined it to a whole management style. Lead by example, motivate by guilt."

Now she'd talked too much, but Pierce exhaled a chuff of laughter that again made her achingly heartsick for Jalur. Maeve just nodded and studied the letter from Harold again.

"King Edmund understands how much Seth has hurt me and says that he still has a long way to heal. But if we wish to see each other, under supervised circumstances, he will aid us."

"Seth could come here?" Pierce asked, sounding alarmed and very disapproving.

"No. King Edmund has invited me to Cair Paravel."

_Oh no. No. No. No._ Morgan knew what was coming next.

"After Conclave," Maeve said. "I can sail to Narnia and meet Seth."

"Not alone," Pierce said stoutly. "I'm coming with you." Maeve covered her hand over his and smiled, all soft and sickening.

"Thank you. I do want you to be there, Pierce."

Then they both looked at her and now all the things that Morgan had avoided saying about Narnia and Harold hung between them, thick and heavy, like a ladle of Warin's porridge.

"Morgan?" Maeve finally prompted and Morgan didn't need a Dog to tell her what was being asked. "When you go back to Narnia, we can come with you, can't we? Wouldn't that make sense? You have been so instrumental in this. I can't imagine going without you there…"

Maeve trailed off – they didn't understand why she wasn't saying anything.

"Do you think I shouldn't go?" Maeve concluded uncertainly.

She stared at the table following the whorls of wood and the cloudy marks made by hot cups left too long. There was a fix for those, more heat and moisture to fix what heat and moisture caused. If it was a Narnian table, would the Dryads know how to …

Morgan heard her name, repeated, and Maeve said again, "Are you saying I shouldn't go?"

"I'm not saying anything," Morgan snapped. "And that's not it at all. I _do_ think you should go, Maeve."

_I don't want to see him again. It's better not to know. I'm happier not knowing. I ran. I'm still running._

"Maybe you don't want us there?" Maeve asked, sounding even more confused and very defensive. "I mean, I understand that you would want to be with King Edmund, but…"

"That's no reason!" Pierce put in. "Morgan, really, you know you can trust us to not interfere! And turnabout is only fair play given what I went through last year!" Pierce sounded happy with this and utterly sincere. "Have you made any arrangements yet for a ship? We can all leave right after Conclave, as soon as the Harbour opens!"

No more running. She had to acknowledge the enormity of her wrong. "No."

"No?" Maeve repeated. "What do you mean, _no_? If not after Conclave, when are you going back?"

"I'm not going back. I left. I'm not welcome there anymore."

They both looked so surprised. It was humiliating. Morgan stared at the carpet. It was finely woven, thick, and perfectly dyed Stanleh red. Meryl sourced their carpets from the same guild but theirs were all blue. She started counting rows of carpet knots.

"I'm so sorry," she heard Maeve eventually say. "I knew you were unhappy. I thought it was about Jina. I didn't know there was more to it."

_4, 8, 16, 32, 64, 128…_ "I… she died. Everything was awful and he was with her when she died. And the ship came the next day and I left. I've not heard anything from him since, and he's perfectly right to feel that way. It's a betrayal, you see."

_256, 512, 1024, 2048…_

"Betrayal? I'm sure that's too strong a word, Morgan."

Why did Maeve _always_ contradict her?

Morgan pulled her eyes up, bristling. "Where you there? No? Because I was! Do you think you know them, know him, better than I do? Loyalty is very important to them." _To him._ "I betrayed that."

Pierce and Maeve looked at one another and Morgan felt another pang. She remembered how she and Harold had been able to communicate like that – touching had often been better for them than words.

Maeve pursed her lips with an irritating look of superiority. "Well, be that as it may, I just don't see how you say you are not welcome in Narnia. That's not how the Narnians here are treating you at all."

"Narnia is just a client," Morgan countered.

"Narnia is my client as well," Pierce pointed out. "And Father's. You occupy a different place altogether, Morgan."

_Yes, I am a wretch and an idiot. Do I have to spell it out in terms you romantic fools can understand?_

"Harold doesn't mention me in the letter to you, does he?" Morgan bit out. They were making her defend a very painful point she wanted to ignore.

Maeve looked down at it again. "Well, no."

"See?"

Maeve rolled her eyes with that old superiority that so put her back up. "Morgan, I never thought I would accuse you of irrationality, but _really_. That King Edmund does not mention you in a letter to me is hardly proof!"

Morgan angrily shook her head. No one could possibly understand it. She knew what she had done. Harold didn't trust anyone, not completely, except his brother and sisters, and Jalur. And no wonder given what the Witch had done. He had admitted that to her. And she'd violated that trust.

"Doesn't matter," she snapped and pulled herself out of the chair. "It's over. Done. I'll see myself out. I can't go back. I think you should go but I can't go with you."

She stumbled toward the door but Pierce was faster and stopped her before she could escape. Her brother put his arms out and pulled her into a warm hug. The thin little supports she had built up, the mud walls and slender, brittle sticks, all started to crumble and crack within her.

"I'm very sorry," Pierce said, hugging her tightly. "I saw, every day, a relationship that I've wanted to emulate. You were very happy together."

Morgan returned her brother's hug. Even if he had terrible judgment in Maeve, he was a wonderful brother. "I don't know if being together again will make me happy," she muttered into his willing shoulder. "There's no reason why it would."

"No? Even though you have been miserable when you've been apart?"

She pulled her head up from Pierce's shoulder when Maeve's hand landed on her back. "Morgan, I really don't think this is the end of it. You might not have heard from King Edmund, _yet_, but the Narnians aren't going to let you write yourself off their ledger. They are as dogged as you are."

Maeve was trying but she really shouldn't be using animal expressions.

ooOOoo

That bizarre thing known as the _night off_ appeared on the calendar. Surely during shut-in this frivolity would not be tolerated? It was not only a night of lost productivity but most of the next morning as well! Morgan, however, was alone in her disapproval. Even the Director – _call me Father, please, Morgan, as you did_ – was no help at all. He was going to play card games with Peridan, the Sterns Director, and some seniors from the other Houses. Seeing all the Bankers making plans for dinners in and out and other entertainments, Morgan finally became resigned to the extravagance and decided she'd commemorate the evening by finding a bottle of Lightning and drinking it dry with the Dwarfs.

Alan had other ideas. "I am taking you to dinner."

"Don't waste the night on me," Morgan replied. "And Constance will break all my quills."

"She won't be happy," Alan agreed. "But she'll understand when I explain."

Alan was persuasive, and he was nice. He was very pretty, too, tall, and all blonde and blue. He really was a lot like the High King in how much he enjoyed just _being_ everything to everyone. The difference was that Alan knew how to talk to her in ways that didn't make her feel self-conscious or awkward. The High King always reminded her of all the things she did poorly; Alan had learned a long time ago how to fill in her blanks without making her feel like an idiot.

"Ale, no wine," he promised, knowing her preferences. "Nothing too smoky or pickled."

"I'm terrible company," Morgan muttered, burying her nose in the Carpetmakers Guild.

Alan leaned over her desk, putting one hand on each side of her ledger, forcing her to look up. "If you don't say yes, I'll send you floral arrangements every week."

She laughed. Alan had somehow learned that she was dreadfully allergic to his past gifts.

"Was that hothouse arrangement last year deliberate? You've never admitted it."

Alan made a tutting sound. "A Banker keeps his own counsel, as you very well know, AD Morgan."

"You are _such_ a Meryl."

"To that end, I will ask you to remember that jealousy may motivate when all other action fails. I happen to know that you also love presents and I have a very special one for you but you can't get it unless you come to dinner with me."

"You would give away my present to someone else?" Morgan didn't like the sound of that at all.

"That depends on the present, doesn't it?"

With that enticement, she couldn't say no. They went to Dragons for dinner. There weren't any Narnians there; it was just Bankers, all holding hands and feeding each other bits of shellfish and flatbreads dipped in olive oil and salt. Dragons wasn't as opulently romantic as Anglers, the other popular club, which did make her feel better about it. Still…

"Everyone's staring at us," Morgan said, as they were seated in a private booth.

"They are admiring our good looks."

"I'm not as pretty as you are. They think we're cheating on the others."

"Anyone who thinks we are deceiving Constance or King Edmund is a fool with very low of opinion of your intelligence and my social graces," Alan said calmly. He left out what people thought of his own intelligence. "If we were carrying on, it certainly wouldn't be in the public room of Dragons." In a thoroughly Meryl statement, he added, "And for those who are that foolish, it's a useful way to discover who our friends and enemies are when the gossip begins and the Rats and Crows report to you on who is saying what to whom."

True to his word, only ale appeared on the table and an array of small dishes that he knew she enjoyed. No pickled onions. He asked her lots of interesting questions about Narnian laws, governance, and the census she had conducted.

"Don't you know all this already, Alan? You have spent days in the Governor's House library. Huda doesn't complain about you being there more than once a ten-day."

Huda was a terribly clever and very moody Genet who was quite particular about who got amongst the Narnian records.

"It's because I help her reshelve everything. And between you and me, although Huda is very bright and has excellent eyesight and superb organization, why don't Narnians have a librarian with hands?"

"It's a recurring problem. Very few Beasts have grasping paws. Have I told you about the Cair Paravel Physician?"

Alan's eyes widened over the rim of his cup and he hurriedly set it down and swallowed. "Enlighten me."

"He's brilliant. He's also a Porcupine."

They laughed so well, others turned in their seats to stare.

"Always plenty of needles for stitching you up!" Morgan said. "But you really don't want to get too close to him."

Somewhere during the meal, Morgan felt the pressure that was always between her eyes and shoulders disappear. Alan really had a gift of putting her at ease.

His modest smile made her realize she'd said the compliment aloud without meaning to. "You do!" Morgan insisted.

"Well, thank you. And before you say anything unkind about the quality of your own company, know that I am enjoying it and you very much. On your report, I am really looking forward to meeting the Physician, the Dryads, the Otters, and all these, well, they aren't people are they? Narnians?" he asked after a pause. "Would that be the correct term?"

"Yes, Narnians is fine. Maeve always uses the wrong words and metaphors." Though… She turned his phrasing over and drew the logical conclusion. "So, you're going to sail to Cair Paravel, too? With Maeve and Pierce?"

"I am! Constance and I are both going. She has friends and family we both wish to see. We want to support Maeve. Peridan is going too; he wants to meet up with his brother. We'll have to lock down the rum, though. I've already arranged the ship for all of us. As soon as we raise the House banners – and Narnia over all, of course – at the end of Conclave, we'll sail."

Morgan felt thoroughly deflated. Pierce had finally stopped bothering her about going with them to Cair Paravel; Maeve and Constance always looked disappointed with her; Alan obviously hadn't given up. It was depressing since, until that point, she'd been enjoying the evening.

"Can I have my gift now?" she blurted out.

"I know you are trying to deflect discussion . However, you have also been excellent dining company and have shown remarkable restraint in not demanding your present until now." Alan reached under the table for his satchel and withdrew from it a roll of parchment tied with a silk ribbon.

She recognized it immediately and now was sorry she'd asked.

"You're giving me your copy of our joint venture agreement?"

"Yes. I am asking you to release me from our contract to be married."

She felt something small die within her. It was never nice to be rejected, even when it was expected. She took the parchment roll from him and felt the smooth, weighty paper. It had taken three years to negotiate what would have been their lifetime together. And now, he wanted to renege. "You have been so kind to me, Alan, you have given me every reason to say no and insist that you satisfy your obligations under the contract. The rescission penalties are severe."

"That was a risk, to be sure. But I'm counting on your sense and your goodness, Morgan. We know this won't work. We don't love each other. We won't be happy."

"It was never supposed to be about love. It was supposed to be profitable."

Alan reached across the table, gently set the contract aside, and grasped both her hands. "You are right, as always, in these things. It would have been very profitable. We are very well matched that way. I think we could have absorbed Sterns and probably brought Stanleh down, too, especially after Conclave last year."

She squeezed his hands in return. They felt nothing like Harold's, whose hands were strong and calloused with more than quill marks. "All that we could build together? All that work you could bring in for me to do? That's not enough?"

_I'm not enough? What I could earn you isn't enough? The money I could make for our House isn't enough?_

"Three years ago, of course it would have been enough. I was the most fortunate Banker in the Lone Islands to have you as my future partner." Alan mimicked another quality of the High King – praise first followed by the criticism. "Then you went to Narnia. There's no going back and, now, I would never want to. I don't want to make decisions for you of all people. But, Morgan, I really do not believe that you should settle for me, just for the sake of ambition and wealth. That's not what I think you really want when you can have so much more."

What she wanted, she couldn't have. She didn't deserve nice things. Alan did, though, and Morgan wouldn't hold him to it. Besides, in what was a thoroughly Meryl maneuver, Alan and Constance had written into the new Code a mechanism for rescission of oppressive contracts. They would take their request to Tumnus and then to Cair Paravel and the contract would surely be broken regardless. Holding him to an agreement he didn't want was pure spite. There was no reason to drag a good man down with her.

"Let it burn," she said.

They took their drinks and the contract, sat on the tufted bench in front of the club's hearth, and threw the contract in the fire. The flames ate it up in moments. It was just another possible future she had hoped for that was gone forever, burned to ash, up in smoke.

Alan put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you, Morgan. I am sure you will find happiness, just as Constance and I have."

Morgan shrugged and carefully put her ale down before she spilled it. She was definitely going to find the Dwarfs and that bottle of Lightning after this. "Thanks but no. I never should have left my House. I'm not fit to be out in the world. I'll take Linch when my Director retires. I'll make Pierce give me heirs."

She watched the flames eat away at the tinder in the hearth. She'd have to build a new future for herself, without anyone else. She'd take down Sterns and grow Linch larger than Stanleh and Meryl. _Combined. _Never invest in anything that eats. It would be a lot harder without someone like Alan to charm clients, bring in work, and be the public face of the business but she'd manage it. Alone.

"My Director will be thrilled I'm assuming Linch."

"If you think your father puts his House ahead of your happiness, you don't understand how much Narnia has influenced him."

She'd finally had enough hearing everyone thanking her for bringing Narnia to them. "I'm glad you all are enjoying the benefits of it when I'm not!" she snapped. "It's been nothing but pain for me!"

Alan wasn't put off by her mood. He just shook his head. "I don't understand where this is coming from, Morgan. From what I saw last year, and what I heard from Anvard, you and King Edmund were wonderfully well matched. We were very happy for you here and all of Narnia was celebrating that their King was taking a mate who had Aslan's favour."

"You are very well-informed, Alan," Morgan accused. The Meryls dealt in information the way the other Houses dealt in coin. "Sorry you couldn't all just get rid of me by packing me off to Narnia for good?"

"Don't change the subject," he countered. "You keep trying to avoid this and without Jina, there's no one willing to challenge what you are doing. So, I am. Morgan, with all that you gained, all that you have grown, all that we _saw_, why aren't you trying to repair the breach? Why are you so afraid?"

"How many times do I have to say it?! I can't go back!" She was beyond tears now; she was furious at always having to explain her errors to people who never listened!

Alan frowned and made a disapproving sound. "Fine, insist on something being broken beyond repair, which I refuse to believe based upon the strength that was there for all to see. But Morgan, that aside, you disappoint me. What of your Banker's oath? What of your duty you owe to your family and House, to your colleagues, and to your client?"

It was a blow to the gut and the conscience. Alan knew just where to hit her. For all his kindness, he would be a dangerous enemy. She shifted uncomfortably on the bench.

"You see it; you can't help but see it," Alan said softly. "Duty is the only lever I know of that reliably works upon a Linch and I am appealing to yours. You committed your House and your colleagues to Narnia; Narnia is your client. You deliberately injected yourself into Maeve's reconciliation with Seth. You owe a responsibility to us all, Morgan. You have to see this through. You have to go back."

"But he'll be there, Alan." She managed to keep her trembling voice down. "How can I face him again!? I humiliated him."

When he just looked at her steadily and sympathetically, and not believing a word she said, Morgan burst out, "I did! He's not written since I left. I betrayed his trust…"

"Morgan!" Alan seized her hands and gently squeezed them, keeping her from bursting into tears and storming out of a public club in a furious mess. "Morgan!"

"What?" she finally, stubbornly, replied.

"If King Edmund can accomplish, can even _hope_ to accomplish genuine forgiveness between Seth and Maeve, don't you think he could forgive you if you just asked him to?"

ooOOoo

Rafe Linch knew his daughter had gone completely Narnian when he observed her lay down a wager with the Crows over whether the Faun musicians would outlast the Dwarfs at the Narnian Yule celebration.

"It has to be very good odds before you wager against Fauns," Morgan said with the authority of one who had done so. "And the current odds aren't good enough."

He watched as she haggled with a Crow and finally agreed to the complex terms with a bob of the head. She gave Chayton a copper filigree from a small chest stuffed with shiny things and let the Crow pull two hairs from her head.

Rafe ran a hand over his own bald head. "You'll get no hairs from me, Crow."

The Crow minced forward on his desk to examine the emerald cuff links on his robe. "I'll take those! Very pretty!"

Morgan laughed. His daughter did it so rarely now, the joy of it caught his breath and heart.

"I'll cover my father's wager, Friend."

_Father_ was so much better than _Director_. Morgan had begun calling him _Father_ again after her momentous dinner with Alan Meryl. He supported their decision to rescind the joint venture. Selfishly, he was happy to have regained his daughter and heir to his House, and without having to pay a penalty to Meryl for breaching the agreement - which they would have had to pay if she had remained in Narnia. He had found little joy in it, though, for it seemed that his gain had come at too high a price for Morgan.

She opened the box a second time. "How about this pretty thing?" She removed a silver wire and held it for the Bird to inspect.

Chayton hopped from foot to foot. "I've not seen _that_ before! Where's it from?"

Morgan seemed not the least put out by the Crow's demand.

"Well spotted, Friend."

The word, _Friend_, rolled off her tongue without a thought. He had heard King Edmund use the term, and Susan. They all used the title easily and unconsciously, speaking as one would to a companion, a compatriot, an individual.

"It's from a silver mine all the way in Calormen and very rare in Narnia," Morgan said.

Morgan omitted informing the Crow that with the new supply agreement, that particular Calormene silver would become far more common in Narnia and surely drive down the value.

Chayton took the wager, two wires in his claws, two hairs in his beak, and flew off, back to the Governor's House.

"Send word if there's beetle racing!" Morgan called as the Crow flapped away. "I'll come early for that and bring silver thread!"

Rafe shut the window of his office against the winter chill.

"That's not a fair wager, Morgan."

She carefully and slowly tied her hair back with the leather thong, another habit of Narnia. "Crows cheat."

ooOOoo

Morgan was disappointed that the ground was too hard for the Crows to find enough beetles to race. Apparently racing beetles were also sluggish in the winter months.

In all other respects, the Narnian Yule celebration was a success. Everyone in Narrowhaven was invited; the Governor's House was ablaze with light and, for once, properly heated. Tumnus and Peridan doled out very practical and adroit gifts to the needy – coins, extensions of credit at local merchants, tins of cooking and heating oil, and baskets with foodstuffs . The perfectly allotted gifts reeked of Morgan's management.

For their guests, the Narnians served excellent food and drink whose rustic qualities were more than offset by the abundance. Their wine was improving; their liquor and malt beer were first rate. From the instruments and enthusiasm, the music promised to be wild and fast.

Narnians, Rafe concluded, knew how to throw a good party.

Morgan confided, "I once went to a Narnian occasion where Puppies stole the dinner. Everyone drank instead, I fleeced the Crows in the wagering, and we all went barefoot. I ended up snorting saltwater up my nose." She lifted up her skirt and wriggled her toes. "I may have to put socks on because the stone is cold and I hope no Centaur steps on me."

Though many formalities and courtesies were observed for the Lone Islanders, the Narnians were not forgotten, either. The last ship to arrive before the Narrowhaven docks closed for the winter had been fine, large, and heavily ladened with goods and gifts intended for the Narnians of the Governor's House. Now, his daughter stood on a dais beside Tumnus. The Narnians crowded around them, straining to be close to her. To each comer she said a few words, shook hands, rubbed noses, kissed cheeks, and accepted slobbering licks and whiskered nuzzles in return. She handed out little cloth bags to each Narnian and they were eagerly accepted.

Rafe intercepted Peridan as the man came away from the dais after receiving a kiss on each cheek and his own bow-tied linen bag. "Peridan, what is this all about? Some Narnian tradition?"

They had to step out of the way as the Centaurs went forward to receive their gifts from Morgan. It was amazing how cramped any space could become when there were a couple of Centaurs in it. They were _big._ He well understood Morgan's worry of being stepped on.

"Of a sort, yes, Director," Peridan replied. "This is just another example of Morgan of Linch's influence in Narnia society."

"Explain?"

"It started when she and King Edmund visited the Meadowlawn. Simple folk live there who've never heard of a banker or money before. They thought Morgan was a baker. They all gave her what they thought was money – honey, nuts, bark, bugs, that sort of thing. So for Yule, as the Baker _and_ Banker of Narnia, she wanted to give out something to the Narnians stationed here. She concocted this with the cooks here."

Peridan prised open his little bag.

"See?"

Rafe put out his hand and into it Peridan set a small, crisp, buttery golden cake. There was a lion head stamped on it.

"Money from the Banker of Linch. It's delicious."

"So the Narnians come away thinking they can eat money?" Rafe didn't like the sound of that.

"Well, not these Narnians, Director. As you know, the ones assigned here were all carefully selected precisely because they had experience with the wider world. Still, to the last Bird and Beast, they are all longing for home on Yule's Eve. Doling out biscuits bearing the Lion's image is very Narnian. And Banker Morgan and Tumnus are the closest thing here to the much-missed Four so they are standing in for what would otherwise surely be a Monarch's ceremony."

"What I see here is not the relationship between Banker and client, Peridan."

Peridan sighed thoughtfully and bit into his _money_. "It seems everyone sees it except the principals themselves, Director. I understand King Edmund is, still, no clearer on the matter than your daughter is."

"That's a remarkably candid statement from you!" Rafe was not accustomed to anyone so bluntly acknowledging Morgan's unhappiness which, so far, he had discussed only with Pierce. He'd never heard a Narnian criticise King Edmund.

Peridan awarded him a short bow. "I plead extenuating, drunken circumstances and will surely not remember in the morning that I was too glib in expressing my longing for a happy ending for your daughter and my King. So please do not remind me of this and do not speak of it to Tumnus as he will scold me dreadfully. That Faun has no respect for a man's hangover."

"So you are both a hopeless romantic and a drunk?"

"Without my Just King to argue my defence, I shall plead guilty on both counts."

A server passed by with a tray of ale. Peridan took one cup and handed it to him. "Director, a toast, if you will."

Peridan took two cups for himself and raised both in salute. "Director of Linch, I propose a happy, healthy and wealthy year for you, your family, and your House."

"Thank you, Peridan. And the same to you."

Peridan drained one of his cups and then shook his head. "My Yule wish is much more simple, Director. I wish to see your daughter on a boat bound for Narnia. I'll trust the Lion and the good Narnians of Cair Paravel to see to the rest."

Whether drunken, or deliberate, the man had nerve. "You expect me to drink to losing my daughter to Narnia?"

Peridan jerked his head to where Morgan was now on her knees giving out her biscuit money to the enthusiastic Sopes, Summer, and their Puppies.

"And you think she is not already?"

"I think it is neither your business nor mine!"

"Hmm, yes, though I am unmoved by it, I see your point and so propose a second, amended toast." Peridan swayed on his feet and raised his second, still full cup. "To the happiness of Morgan of Linch, wherever she might find it."

To that, Rafe could definitely drink.

ooOOoo

With music and dancing underway, Rafe thought he should find his daughter for one turn, even if all they did was hold hands together and walk across the ballroom floor.

Though Peridan's high handedness rankled, Rafe also saw the wisdom in the man's presumption. He wanted what was best for Morgan, but what that was, he was none the wiser, save as Peridan had rightly discerned, that she find the happiness of before that eluded her now. He was very irked that King Edmund had not bothered to find out how Morgan was faring after Jina's death; in fairness, he had to concede that maybe King Edmund hadn't contacted her because he believed Morgan didn't want to be contacted. In which case, he admired the man's restraint and respect for Morgan's wishes. Regrettably, he suspected it was Morgan's obligation to initiate the contact, and so found himself sympathizing with Peridan's tactics as it probably _would_ take divine intervention or crass, overt manipulation to accomplish it.

Finding his daughter in Linch House might have been a difficult search; here all he had to do was ask the Dogs. Sopes and Summer were enjoying new, large, meaty bones in the hallway leading to the ballroom.

"She's in Mr. Tumnus' office, Director," Summer said. "That's where the Naninans are exchanging our gifts. That's where Morgan gave us our new bones."

"It's private, just for Narnians, but I don't think she'll mind you there," Sopes added. "You're like an honorary Narnian and it's Yule."

He declined their offer of escort. The Shepherds gave him very detailed directions to Tumnus' office, assured him that they would listen for any calls of distress, and would organise a search party if he did not reappear by evening's end.

Tumnus' study was cheerful, homey and far enough away that the raucous music of the ballroom was a distant drumming rather than deafening. The room's mantle and windows were decorated with greenery and a table in the middle was piled with cloth-wrapped gifts.

Morgan was sitting in a chair and Chayton and Sadie were crowding one another on the armrests.

"Thank you very much, both of you," Morgan said, accepting a stone from Sadie's beak. "It's lovely." She held the rock up to the bright lamplight of the room. "Can you tell me what is in here that I can't see?"

"Blue-blue-black lines," Chayton.

Sadie pecked the stone in Morgan's hand. "It's right there. And I think it's berry blue-black, not blue-blue-black."

Morgan held the stone close. "Oh, I see it! Yes, it's very pretty! I'll have to polish it up so it shows better! Happy Yule to you both!"

The three of them bobbed heads and stroked each other's cheeks.

Rafe knew better than to ask the Crows what the difference was between berry blue-black and blue-blue-black.

"Some of the Stanlehs arrived for the party," Rafe said. "The women are wearing some very pretty red and sparkling ornaments in their hair."

"Happy Yule, Banker Morgan!" Sadie called and launched herself off the chair and out the room; Chayton flapped after her, squawking insults.

Morgan waited until the Crows' caws faded into the noise of the party and then laughed. "You are learning how to manage Crows, Father."

"You are an excellent teacher, Morgan. I suppose Tumnus can sort out tomorrow what goes missing."

She carefully set the stone aside with the other gifts the Narnians had given her. Some, such as the beautiful quills, coloured inks, and leatherbound diary were obviously of foreign make but purchased in Narrowhaven from high-end shops catering to Bankers. The purchases were the product of the Narnian strategy of sharing their wealth with local merchants. Things such as the stones were obviously unique to the Narnians – like the gifts given to her in the Meadownlawn that Peridan had spoken of.

He picked up the stone and squinted at it. "I really can't see a thing."

"Neither can I. They have phenomenal eyesight so there could be a raw gemstone or a vein of something in there. Or it could just be a rock that is pretty to them. I'll ask one of the Dwarfs."

"They are very generous according to their kind and obviously think very highly of you."

Morgan nodded and turned over in her hands the Linch green fingerless gloves he knew Tumnus had knitted for her. "Speaking of teaching, would you or one of the juniors be able to do the Sterns training after Conclave?"

Morgan's questions were never random; they only seemed so because he was not privy to the chain of logic that brought them out. In this case, he could easily unravel the reasoning and was very glad of it. "It's no difficulty at all. I think joining the others and sailing to Narnia is far more important and a course of action I am glad you have come to on your own before I had to insist upon it."

"I've run out of excuses for not going and the reasons for going are compelling." She smoothed the gloves out and pulled them on, testing what looked to be a perfect fit. "I owe everyone at Cair Paravel an apology. And I told Maeve this morning I would be there for her and for Seth when they see each other again. There are a dozen business matters that need tending."

Pierce could handle the business, but Rafe would not point that out. Morgan needed to settle her personal business, one way or another, and that wouldn't be accomplished with her wasting away here.

And after that?" he asked.

"I'll come back, of course." She pulled her head up to look at some distant point over his shoulder. Did Morgan see the way Crows did? "I'll do my duty to our House, Father. It will be just like it was before. So, you should be pleased with that!"

He cringed at the false note of brightness in her voice and very much needed to disabuse his daughter of this misplaced Linch loyalty.

"Morgan, while I appreciate the gesture, don't make your decisions based upon what you think is pleasing to me. I would be delighted to have you living here rather than all the way across the sea but I don't presume that is truly what you want or what is best for you. I have had enough experience letting go of young women to know that all paths do not, and should not, lead back to me and my door."

"Other women?" she queried, sounding far too interested in the glib comparison he had made. Like Peridan, he supposed he could blame the liquor. Her gaze met his own for a moment and then wandered again. "What other young women?"

"Your mother, most notably." Others were certainly not for his daughter's ears.

"Felice? Really? I hadn't thought she…" Morgan frowned and searched for the words which a year ago would have been bluntly brutal. "I thought she left because nothing here was important enough."

"Felice wasn't happy here and it was better for all of us that she found what would make her happy before her dissatisfaction brewed true resentment and anger." He and Felice had been together for almost three years but once Pierce was born, they had both seen that what she really desired would never be in Narrowhaven. A young, healthy, competent, pretty woman of proven fertility with familial ties to the royal family would blossom in Archenland. They had negotiated an excellent marital situation for her and she and her lord's estate had prospered under Felice's excellent management and remarkable fecundity. "I love her most for being wise enough to leave when it was time and being willing to let me raise you and Pierce."

"I had never thought of it that way." Her fingers worried the green gloves and she pulled them off. She stared down at the Narnia and Archenland pins on her sleeve.

"But what of our House, Father? If I didn't come back…"

This fret was something he had anticipated and prepared for. He had already given a version of it to Pierce with his son's decision to formalize the marital contract with Maeve. "Long term, Linch has stood for generations. It will endure long after you and I are both gone, neither of which is foreseeable at the moment. Short term, we have a crop of talented, very competitive juniors who are very motivated as they see advancement opportunities within the House that weren't there two years ago. With the ties you have brought us with the northern kingdoms, I have more applications from our Archen family members then I can accommodate."

Morgan bit her lip and turned away. "So maybe I'm not needed here, either."

_So much hurt. So much confusion. _

"You are _always_ valued, Morgan. It took almost losing you to make me understand _how much_ I love and value you." He leaned down, put a finger to her chin, and stroked her cheek, much as the Crows had. "I cannot make your decisions for you but please, for all our sakes, _don't_ stay here out of a misplaced sense of duty. That will surely lead to bitterness and resentment."

He let his hand drop at the sound of a commotion in the hall – flapping wings and running hooves.

"That didn't take long," Morgan said as Chayton and Sadie flew into the room with large ornaments in their beaks. The Crows landed awkwardly on the table.

"What have you both got there?" Morgan asked, jumping up from her seat.

"Stolen right from Maeve Stanleh's head, that's what!" Tumnus trotted in, looking and sounding very aggrieved. "Really, you two, must you do this tonight when all of Narrowhaven is here?"

"That's why we took them from Maeve!" Sadie said, cocking her head to the side to look at the bejeweled hair combs lying on the table amongst the other gifts.

"She might even have to let us keep them!" Chayton added. "They're very shiny!"

"Well you can both make your apologies to the AD and if she takes a swing at you with a club, don't complain to me!"

Sadie flapped across the table and landed on top of a basket of food and bottles.

"Sadie, get out of there! Those are not for you!"

The Crow made rude sound at Tumnus. She pushed one gift away with a scrape of her long toe claw and pecked at another package. Grabbing the string tied around the parcel, she pulled it out from under a tottering pile. As Tumnus scrambled to keep everything from sliding off the table, Chayton hopped over to see what the fuss was about it. "Morgan!" he squawked. "Sadie's found a present for you! Maybe it's shiny!"

"I thought everyone had already given to me! Thank you!" Morgan replied. She reached for the package and froze.

"Morgan?" Rafe asked. "Is something wrong?"

"It's a book!" Chayton exclaimed, as the package's outer wrap gave way with Sadie's vigorous tugging.

"It's from King Edmund!"

ooOOoo

To find the right sentiment, it took two full days and nights of scouring Harold's gift. Ironically, coincidentally, and possibly due to some very adroit Cair Paravel interference, she had received Volume 3 of the _Language of Love_ from Harold and he had simultaneously received Volume 2 from her. Morgan went through three leads, a bottle of ink, and far too much scrap before finally finding the words to go with the sentiment. And then she tore them up four times and re-wrote them five times after that.

It was embarrassing that everyone at the Governor's House knew that after her long, stubborn and sad silence, she was writing to Harold. They could hear her muttering lines as she sat in her office talking to herself. But true to queer Narnian notions of privacy, no one said anything. They were very kind and now were subtly enabling the habits they had been trying to break her of. Ajouga Fumb and Gahiji provided endless pots of coffee that kept her up late drafting and re-drafting. Summer and Sopes guarded her door and didn't nag at all about warm clothing, exercise, and missed meals. When she wandered the halls, gesturing to herself and mumbling lines from Volume 3 about gratitude and forgiveness, Summer and Sopes would follow and chase away anyone who tried to speak with her.

"Shhh!" Sopes growled at everyone. "You are breathing too loudly and disturbing Banker Morgan!"

Can't you see that Banker Morgan is writing a very important letter to King Edmund!" Summer snapped. "She needs her _privacy._"

Narnians had no idea what privacy was but were very accommodating.

Tumnus had told her not to worry about the delay – the Albatrosses who had made the most recent trip needed to rest before returning to Cair Paravel, everyone was writing Yule thank you letters, and the Birds could wait to begin their return until all important correspondence, including Morgan's own, was ready. She knew they were really waiting for her and it was just more pressure in an already impossibly tense situation.

The fourth day, in the cold dark just before dawn, she finally committed to the page the best words she could.

_Dear Edmund:_

_I am not any better at writing than I am speaking when it comes to feelings. I chase words around the page and they end in a jumbled pile of incoherence. _

_Thank you for Volume 3. If you received my Yule letter and gift then you already know I gave you Volume 2. I feel very awkward and vulnerable now, knowing that you have received that cheerful, optimistic gift, as if all had been well, as it was all supposed to have been. You didn't include a note in your gift to me, which is unlike you, and I have thought perhaps the gift was a mistake you now regret sending to someone who hurt you so deeply. _

_You trusted me with your confidences and I did the one thing that you, of all people, do not deserve. I betrayed your trust. I am sorry._

_By the time this reaches you, Conclave may be over and, if so, I shall already be on the way to Narnia with Maeve, Pierce, Constance, and Alan. I must apologize to you, your family, the Pack and the others of Cair Paravel and must deliver that message in person. I've tried to follow your example in helping Maeve and Seth and I need to see that through, as well. _

_In Anvard you said that if I wished it, we would part as Banker and client. Now, it is my turn to say the same. As my King and my client, know that your country and your subjects will always have my loyalty. That is my duty, given unstintingly and joyfully. You owe me nothing more. _

_I feel like there is more I should say but I don't know what else to say. In my Yule letter, I quoted poems from Volume 2 that described better than I could how much I love you. It's uncomfortable thinking that you might read all that and feel a sense of obligation now. Please don't. You don't owe me anything. _

_One passage from Volume 3 is the best apology I could find but even it isn't what you deserve. _

_I long to sing your praises but stand mute  
with the agony of regret in my heart._

_The grief for what has been lost  
lifts a mirror up to where I am bravely working.  
_

_I look and expect to see my worst deeds reflected there.  
Instead, I see your beautiful face._

_Yours most humbly and with my most sincere apology,_

_Morgan_

Before she could change her mind, she sealed the letter and marched it down to Tumnus' room.

"Sorry to wake you, but if I don't give it to someone, I may tear it up or start over. Don't give it back to me, under any circumstances."

It was a needless instruction because Tumnus immediately woke Warin and they took her letter and the other messages to the Rook. Through the thinning ice of the window in her cold room, she could just make out the Albatrosses launching themselves from the tallest tower of the Governor's House. By the time she crawled into her bed, clutching Edmund's gift of Volume 3 and their first courtship agreement to her chest, the Albatrosses were across the Narrowhaven harbour, flying west, over the sea and back to Cair Paravel.

A Shepherd's wet nose in her face woke her from her soundest sleep since Narnia.

"We're sorry to bother you," Summer said. "You need to sleep but Tumnus and Peridan thought you would want this more and we agree."

Sopes was carrying a letter carefully in his teeth and gingerly pushed it toward her. Morgan flailed upright, blinking the sleep away, feeling exhausted, elated, and terrified.

"Is it…" She took the letter from Sopes and stared at it, at the familiar handwriting, at the red wax seal of Lion, Scale, Crow, and Wand.

"It just arrived," Sopes said. "The Birds we sent crossed paths at sea with a pair just coming from Cair Paravel. The Birds left Narnia right after Yule and flew very fast. They brought this for you."

Morgan turned the letter over in her hands, feeling a wild, utterly irrational hope, the first in weeks. _At least he didn't return the book I gave him. That's good, isn't it? But the book would be too heavy to go by Albatross so that doesn't mean anything._

"And Morgan, the Albatrosses said they could feel the southern wind coming. They think the winter will break soon."

And then Conclave would start. And then she would sail for Cair Paravel.

She fingered the dark, heavy wax bearing the imprint of his seal.

"Are you going to read it?" Sopes asked. "Don't you want to know what's inside?"

"If it is good and happy, yes," Morgan told the Shepherds. "If it is sad and angry, no."

Showing she was a managing Shepherd and not a sensitive Hound, Summer fretted, "But you won't know which it is until you read it. I'd want to know right away, don't you?"

Morgan took a deep breath and cracked the wax seal.

* * *

Next chapters, _Return to Narnia - __In The Counting House _ in which things long hidden are finally exposed.

ooOOoo

Phew. I know, really long and I apologize for the delay, again, but this was heavy going. I thought of trying to divide it, but I promised Yule and I really, really wanted to pull Morgan out of her mourning by the end. There were a zillion ways this could be organized and that was part of the reason for the delay.

I know Morgan is frustrating and not wholly rational at the beginning and that's deliberate writing on my part to reflect how the black hole of depression alters reasonable perception and action. In the end, Morgan realizes the amends she must make and resolves to do them and to do so independently of any expectation of any reconciliation from Edmund. She has to act like a grown up and accept responsibility for her conduct, as much as it hurts.

Morgan's poem is adapted from parts of _The Love Poems of Rumi_.

The end is near! If you are celebrating it, have a Happy Thanksgiving. The story has picked up new followers, so welcome and I hope you will share your thoughts with me. Thanks so much.


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